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THE PATH OF PERIL. 



Beaten Paths 



or 



Lessons in Living 



CHARLES HENRY KEAYS, M. A. 



ILLUSTRATED BY 



AMERICAN AND EUROPEAN ARTISTS 



3j$3l y ' 



CHICAGO 

Rader, Thomson & Co. 



\ 






Copyright, 1890, 
By Chari.es Henry Keays. 

cofyright, 1890, 
By Rader, Thomson & Co. 



A LE RIGHTS RESERVED. 



INTRODUCTION. 

Life is a leaf of paper white 
Whereon each one of us may write 
His word or two, and then comes night. 

Though thou have time 
But for a line, be that sublime, — 
Not failure, but low aim, is crime." 

— Lowell. 




HE Art of Living has been 
called the finest of the fine arts. 
Statues, pictures, and poems 
may exercise an uplifting min- 
istry, but those lives in which 
strength and beauty find expres- 
sion, far outrank them in the 
power of communicating inspiration and delight. He 
that lives nobly creates a masterpiece for the admira- 
tion and instruction of the world. 

This art of living is old as the race, as old as eter- 
nity. It is the primal art of Heaven. Long before 
men had begun to make experiments in architecture, 
painting, and music, they were learning how to live. 
The presumption is that by this time there is but little 
room for new discoveries. The laws of living are as 
clearly defined and as unchangeable as the laws of 
perspective, of color, or of sound. He that would 



4 be a Yen pa ths. 

live wisely must be scrupulous in observing them. 

The object of this volume is to set forth the leading 
principles on which success in living depends. It aims 
to point out those beaten paths along which, for count- 
less generations, men have sought and found pros- 
perity both temporal and spiritual. In the carrying 
out of this purpose much use has necessarily been 
made of the precepts and example of others. There 
is no hero of the world whose life is not rich in lessons ; 
nor is there any writer on ethical themes who has not 
left some words worthy of our study. While so many 
unite in commending the travelled highways that lead 
to success in life, it is hoped that the addition of 
another voice to the company will not weaken the 
point and emphasis of their teaching. 

May this book prove helpful to all who would be 
artists in living! May it aid in the formation of 
higher ideals and more earnest purposes in all to 
whom its message shall come ! May it bring inspira- 
tion to the young, strength to the toiling, and comfort 
and hope to those whose tale of years is well nigh told ! 



/Aoj\M^fY-y ,< \e. 





CONTENTS. 



i. 

YOUTH. 



Critical Importance of Youth — Its Essential Characteris- 
tic — Restlessness — Working Energy of the Young 
— Historical Examples — Ambition of Youth — 
Necessity of Hard Work — Law in Life — Dreams 
of Youth — Beaten Paths to Success — Conceit, its 
Cause and Cure — Desire of Approbation — Impul- 
siveness of the Young — Cultivation of the Judg- 
ment — Nobler Impulses of the Heart — Responsi- 
bility of the Young 19 

II. 

SUCCESS. 

Function of Ambition — Three Mistakes concerning 
Success — That It Consists in Beating Others — 
That It Consists in Wealth — That It Consists in 
Popularity or Fame — Success Consists in Follow- 
ing the Ideal — Four Elements in the Ideal : Intel- 
ligence, Happiness, Righteousness, Usefulness — No 
Man Perfectly Successful — Degree of Success 
Dependent on Heredity, Circumstances, Free Will 
— On Doing Our Best — The Art of Living ... 38 



6 BE A TEN PA THS. 

III. 

THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 

Life a Battle— Enemies of Health — Two-fold Character 

of Nature — Civilization Won by Struggle — Pursuit j 

of Knowledge under Difficulties — Enemies of Hap- 
piness — Temptation and Virtue — Men who Have 
Risen — Disraeli — Power of Overcoming Difficulties 
— Will — Leaders of Men — Martin Luther — Defeat 
Disgraceful — Choice and Effort — The Battle Hymn 
of Life 64 

IV. 

HEALTH. 

Lessons of Experience — Advantages of Health — Health 
and Success — Historical Examples and Exceptions 
— Health and Energy — Health and Happiness — 
Health and Morals — Training of Israel — Muscular 
Christianity — Conditions of Health: Cleanliness, 
Food, Air, Light, Sleep, Exercise, Recreation — 
Every Man a Law unto Himself — Healthfulness a 
Duty " 87 

V. 
BRAINS. 

Mind More Important than Body — Power of the Intel- 
lect — Christianity a Religion of Intelligence — This 
Age Marked by Brains — Housekeeping; Dress; Ma- 
chinery — Brains in Business — Brains Estimated by 
the Money-Standard — Brains in Social Life — Preju- 
dices — The Unenlightened Conscience — An Intelli- 
gent Piety — Happiness in the Intellectual Life — 
Advantages of a Liberal Education HO 



CONTENTS. 7 

VI. 
HABITS. 

Man a Bundle of Habits — Meaning of Habit — Habit a 
Second Nature — Two Classes of Habits — Strength 
of Bad Habits — A Dangerous Experiment — How 
to Get Rid of Bad Habits — Habit not an End in 
Itself — Various Services Rendered by Habit — Diffi- 
culty of Forming Good Habits — Physical, Mental, 
Practical — Cheerfulness — Good Moral Habits — 
Immortality of Habit 133 

VII. 
DRESS. 

Dress Characteristic of Man — Assumed for Three 
Reasons : Modesty, Utility, Beauty — Immodest Gar- 
ments — Exposure of the Face and Hands — Com- 
fort — Interference with Nature — Beauty in Dress — 
Influence of Dress — Over-Ornamentation — Tyranny 
of Fashion — Vanity of the Male Sex — Extrava- 
gance in Dress — Dress as a Ruling Passion — Dress 
for the Sanctuary — Necessity of Higher Interests 152 

VIII. 
MANNERS. 

Who is the Gentleman — Etymology of the Word — Evo- 
lution of the Gentleman — An Aristocratic Title in 
a Democratic Age — Misleading Marks of the Gen- 
tleman : Wealth, Dress, Leisure — Manners, their 
Growth and Utility — Airs and Affectations — Man- 
ners to be Developed from Within — Their Living 
Germ — Self-Respect — Respect for Others — Man- 
ners in the Home — Politeness — Importance of 
Trifles 175 



8 BEATEN PATHS. 

IX. 

SELF-CULTURE. 

Two Educations Received by All — Self-Culture Peculiar 
to Man — Self-Culture in its Special Sense — What 
is Culture — Superficial Accomplishments — Two 
Marks of Culture — A Discriminating Intellectual 
Appetite — Love of the Truth — Quality and Quan- 
tity of the Intellectual Products — How to Attain 
Culture — Attention — Observation — Reading — Re- 
flection — Writing and Conversation — Sovereignty 
of Mind . . 196 

X. 

THE EDUCATION OF THE WILL. 

Free-Will — Increasing Demands Made on the Will as 
Life Advances — Varying Degrees of Will-Power — 
Developed by Difficulty — Inherited Strength of 
Will — Hollanders — Poverty — Home-Training — 
School-Life — The Will Weakened by Indulgence — 
How to Develop the Will — Purpose — Determina- 
tion — Decision — Energy — Perseverance — Success 
and Failure 21& 

XL 

TIME. 

Time a River — Its Extent and Strength — Time Brings 
Opportunity — Opportunity Fleeting — Time Stern 
to Those who Slight Opportunity — Gracious to 
Those who Improve It — Time Necessary for Suc- 
cessful Work — Impatience of the Age — Knowledge, 
Business, Religion, Happiness, Demand Time — 
How to Co-operate with Time — Purpose— System 
— Punctuality — Dispatch — Value of Minutes — On 
Wasting Time — No End to Time 244 



CONTENTS. 9 

XII. 
A SMALL FORTUNE. 

Extreme Views concerning Money — Its Benefits and 
Disadvantages to Society — Relations of Wealth to 
the Individual — Wealth and Health — Wealth and 
Intelligence — Wealth and Morals — A Picture of 
Poverty — Wealth and Happiness — The Typical 
Millionaire — Limited Power of Money — Wealth 
Multiplies Wants — Wealth and Usefulness — Wealth 
a Letter of Introduction — Manhood More Precious 
than Money 270 

XIII. 
MAKING AND SPENDING. 

Dangers in the Love of Money — Teachings of Scrip- 
ture — Trusting to Luck — Money to be Earned 
— Be More than a Money-Maker — Saving — Neces- 
sity of Self-Denial — Keeping up Appearances — 
Economy of Philanthropists — Expensive Habits — 
Great Accumulations through Small Savings — Pro- 
fitable Investments — The Art of Spending — Spend 
Economically, Independently, Wisely, Unselfishly 
— Post-Mortem Benevolence 292 

XIV. 
THE BLESSINGS OF TOIL. 

Workers and Shirkers — Love of Work an Acquired 
Appetite — Dignity of Labor — True and False Con- 
tentment — Chance versus Toil — Misconceptions 
concerning Genius — Products of Toil — Toilers of 
History — Reflex Influence of Work — Health — San- 
ity of Mind — Freedom from Temptation — Business- 
Life a School for the Virtues — Work and Happi- 
ness — Religious /Aspects of Work 315 



I O BE A TEN PA THS. 

XV. 

BUSINESS-LIFE. 

An Age of Specialists — Variety of Occupations — 
Choice of a Business — Natural Adaptation the 
Prime Qualification — Genius and Talent — Self- 
Knowledge — Consultation with Others — Providen- 
tial Openings — Business a Service of Humanity — 
Enthusiasm — Concentration — Application — Thor- 
oughness — Training — Method — System — Punctual- 
ity — Tact — Perseverance 341 

XVI. 
RECREATION. 

Ascetic Tendencies — -The Play-Instinct — Origin of the 
Fine Arts — Advantages of Play — Play-Impulse to be 
Regulated — Dangers in Amusements — Doubtful and 
Immoral Recreations — Tendency to Relax Moral 
Vigilance — Expensive and Unbecoming Amuse- 
ments — Out-Door Pastimes — Hobbies — The Sab- 
bath Rest — Dissipation — Debated Questions — A 
Sensitive Conscience the Only Safeguard .... 364 

XVII. 
THE PRODUCTS OF THE PRESS. 

The Daily Newspaper — A Teacher of the People — A 
Moral Power — Its Shortcomings — Choice of a 

Newspaper — Responsibility of the Reader How 

to Read Newspapers — The Art of Skipping — The 
Magazines — Advertisements — Dangers of Reading 
Transient Literature — Books a Survival of the Fit- 
test — How to Make Time for Reading — The Study 
of History 385 



CONTENTS. 1 1 

XVIII. 

THE ART OF READING. 

Four Classes of Readers — Method to be Determined 
by End Sought — Reading to Form the Habit — De- 
praved Intellectual Appetite — Reading for Enter- 
tainment — Reading for Information — Remembering 
what we Read — Reading for Opinions — Reading as 
a Tonic — Difficult Reading — Reading for Culture — 
The Classics — Reading for Character — Delights of 
Reading 402 

XIX. 

CONVERSATION. 

A Lost Art — Power of the Living Voice — Man a Word- 
Divider — The Voice — Accent and Pronunciation — 
Style — Provincialism — Extravagance — Slang — 
Profanity — Thought — Narrowness — Hobbies — 
Silence — Companionship — Monopolizing the Con- 
versation — The Art of Listening — Congeniality 
— The Weather as a Topic — Controversy — Ego- 
tism — Slander — Purity and Prudery 425 

XX. 
FRIENDSHIP. 

Common to All Ages and Climes — Counterfeits — Friend- 
ship in the Family — Various Degrees of Friend- 
ship — Blesssings of Friendship — Its Influence on 
the Mental and Moral Natures — Friendship and 
Happiness — How Friends are Formed — Instinct; 
Association ; Congeniality ; Choice — Friendship 
Disinterested — New Friends — How to Keep 
Friends — Friends to be Cherished and Encouraged. 452 



I 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

XXI. 
LOVE, COURTSHIP, AND MATRIMONY. 

Is Marriage a Failure — Number of Happy Marriages — 
A Critical Step — Danger-Signals — Marriage and 
Happiness — Marriage and Character — Love — How 
Love is Developed — Love the Indispensable Condi- 
tion of Successful Marriage — Love needs Control 
and Direction — Love and Esteem — Desirable Qual- 
ities to be Considered — Religion a Safeguard . . 474 

XXII. 
HOME, SWEET HOME. 

Influence of Home — Location of the Home — Comfort 
and Beauty — A House of Our Own — House-Keep- 
ing and Home-Keeping — The Head of the House — 
Concessions and Compromises — Love in the Home 
— The True Helpmate — The Duty of Husbands — 
Children in the Home — The Child a Prophet — 
Dignity of Home Life — The Home of Our Child- 
hood 499 

XXIII. 

THE SECRET OF A HAPPY LIFE. 

The Creator's Intention — Man to Co-operate — Adjust- 
ment — Adjustment with Nature, or Health — Adjust- 
ment with Circumstances, or Contentment — Influence 
of Circumstances — Work; Habit; Will — The Bright 
Side of Things — Adjustment with Men, or Love — 
Delight in Doing Good — Adjustment with God, or 
Peace — No Peace to the Wicked — No Life without 
Shadows 523 



CONTENTS. 13 

XXIV. 
CHARACTER. 

Character, the Form and Features of the Soul — Always 
Revealing Itself — Reputation and Character — Vari- 
eties of Character — Method of Classifying Them — 
Currents or Drifts in Character — Two Leading 
Types — Distinguished in Work, Pleasure, Honesty, 
Anger, Courage. — Glory and Duty — Heroism in 
Common Life — Character Open to All — Character 
Priceless 545 

XXV. 

THE BIBLE. 

The Scriptures as Literary Products — Testimonials as to 
their Value — Influence of the Bible on Civilization 
— A Library in Itself — Ancient Manuscripts — 
Translations — Redemption — The Chosen People — 
Early Imperfections Accounted for — How to Inter- 
pret the Bible — Allegorical Method — What Did 
the Authors Mean — Necessity of Candor, Common 
Sense, Scholarship — Commentators — Aid of the 
Spirit — The Bible its own Evidence 566 

XXVI. 

RELIGION. 

Man Naturally Religious — God Always Present to Him 
— Feeling of Dependence — Feeling of Obligation 
— Feeling of Satisfaction in Duty — Feeling of 
Guilt — Longing for a Revelation — The Gospel — 
Its View of Man — Its Revelation of God — Rela- 
tions of God and Man to the Universe — Triumphs 
of Christianity — Society Like a Mountain — Dig- 
nity of the Christian Life 590 



1 4 BE A TEN PA THS. 

XXVII. 

OLD AGE. 

Transformations of Time — Attempts to Conceal Age — 
Is Old Age an Evil — The Law of Compensation — 
Two Pictures of Old Age — Life a Gain — Spiritual 
Beauty of Old Age — Strength of the Aged — Their 
Wisdom and Influence — Avarice in Old Age — 
Pleasures and Hopes of Old Age — The Vision of 
Heaven — The .Home of the Soul 615 




ILLUSTRATIONS. 



PAGS^ 



i. Inscription Page. 

2. The Path of Peril Frontispiece. 

3. May-Time 18 

4. Reaping the Harvest 39 

5. The Battle of Life 65 

6. Health ...••. 86 

7. Thought in 

8. Taken to Task 132 

9. In a Garret 153 

10. The Court of Queen Elizabeth 174 

11. The Young Astronomers 197 

12. Discipline 219 

13. Farewell 245 

14. Fortune Hunters in the Rockies 271 

15. Going to Market 6 293 



1 6 BE A TEN PA THS. 

NO. PAGE. 

1 6. Toilers of the Sea 314 

1/. The Old Mill 340 

18. The Chess Players , 365 

19. The Three Newsboys 384 

20. " Studious let me Sit " 403 

21. A Morsel of Gossip 424 

22. Shake Hands « . 453 

23. "For Better, For Worse" . . . 475 

24. Motherhood 498 

25: Harmony 522 

26. Faithful 544 

27. The Old, Old Story 567 

28. The Sistine Madonna 591 

29. Grandmother's Favorite 614 




MAY-TIME. 



YOUTH. 

"The lovely time of youth is our Italy and Greece, full of gods, 
temples, and bliss ; and which, alas ! so often Goths and Vandals stalk 
through, and strip with their talons. ' ' — Richter. 

"A youth thoughtless, when all the happiness of his home forever 
depends on the chances or the passions of an hour ! A youth thoughtless, 
when the career of all his days depends on the opportunity of a moment! 
A youth thoughtless, when his every action is a foundation-stone of future 
conduct, and every imagination a fountain of life or death ! Be thought- 
less in any after years, rather than now." — Ruskin. 




O man can see much of the world 
without being - led to fsel the 
infinite importance of those few 
short years that are contained 
within the limits of youth. The 
stream of life seldom loses the 
tinge and trend that are given 
to it at the fountain-head. When the Athenians 
inquired of the oracle how their commonwealth might 
be made prosperous, they were told that fortune 
would smile upon them " if they would but hang their 
most precious things upon their children's ears." 
That is to say, prosperity will come to the state that 
carefully instructs the young in the highest principles 
and virtues. The noblest type of social organization 



20 BE A TEN PA THS. 

as of individual character, can be built up only on 
foundations that have been laid with skill and care 
in that fair morning-time of youth whose opportu- 
nities are so manifold and so gracious. 

In youth life beats with its fastest pulse, the powers 
mature with quick unfolding, and almost before we 
are aware of what has happened, the boys and girls of 
yesterday meet and greet us as the men and women 
of the present. Youth is that golden age from which 
are woven the choicest portions of song and story. 
It is young life, pure and strong and hopeful, that 
gives inspiration to the rhythmic numbers of the 
poet. It is young men and women that play the 
leading parts in almost every work of fiction. The 
artist seizes upon the few short years that intervene 
between childhood and marriage, and anoints them 
with the chrism of his genius. The heroes and 
heroines of the imagination are all young. 

The Bible is true to the literary instincts and the 
experience of men in assigning a special value to this 
period of our career. The experiences of youth 
suggest the vision of the ideal; the young men of a 
nation are conceived of as its greatest treasure; and 
the renewal of youth is regarded as the greatest 
blessing that comes from the Divine hand. Never- 
theless, the Apostle Paul writes to Timothy, " Let no 
man despise thy youth," thus intimating that youth 
stands in special danger of bringing itself into 
disrepute. It has its own peculiar faults. Its follies 
have become proverbial. It lacks knowledge and 
discipline and restraint. It squanders its magnificent 



YOUTH. 21 

energies with the utmost prodigality. It is careless, 
restless, impulsive, assertive. 

If we would discover the essential characteristic of 
the young, let us remember that the youth is he who 
has suddenly come into possession of prodigious and 
unexpected energies. Not slowly do these powers 
develop within us; they come, rather, as Minerva is 
fabled to have sprung from the head of Jupiter, full- 
grown and fully equipped. They are forced upon us 
long before we have gained any adequate idea of 
that outer world to which they must be adjusted; 
and for the time being they seem to defy restraint. 
It would be strange indeed if this sudden develop- 
ment did not give rise to faults and follies, as well as 
to noble ambitions and generous enthusiams. 

It is in this way that we must explain the restless- 
ness, impatience, and irritability, which form so com- 
mon a characteristic of these young lives of ours. 
We have more spring in the muscles and more fire in 
the blood than we know what to do with. From 
fifteen to twenty-one the powers expand with light- 
ning rapidity. At fourteen the youth is only a boy, 
with a squeaky voice and knee-breeches; at sixteen he 
is a man, with a dignified bearing and a perceptible 
moustache. His restlessness arises from the fact that 
power is thrust upon him before he has found any 
steady and systematic outlet for it. We feel it im- 
possible at this age to fasten the mind steadily upon 
any one trade, business, or profession. We turn from 
one plan of life to another, and grow more or less 
dissatisfied with all. We make little experiments in 



2 2 BEATEN PATHS. 

living, that we may discover which activity is best 
adapted to dissipate the superfluous energy that our 
quick development has furnished. The youth finds it 
irksome to spend twelve months in any one situation. 
He serves the tailor, the tinsmith, and the apothecary 
in turn; for six weeks he is a carpenter, and for sev- 
eral hours a farm-laborer. Then he takes a contract 
on the railway, dabbles in real estate, and finally can- 
vasses the county in the interest of a photographer. 
And as the conclusion of the whole matter, he is prob- 
ably ready to exclaim with the preacher of old, 
"Vanity of vanities, all is vanity! " 

And so it is — unless one stick to it. But if a man 
will only persevere in some line of work that the 
restless youth declares to be vain and unprofitable., 
he shall be astonished at discovering what a substan- 
tial and satisfying thine it can become. There is 
hardly any business that is not able to bring you 
disgust for a year or two and emolument forever 
after. The " vanity " that ogives men at first nothing 
but dirty hands and sour tempers and a morbid dis- 
satisfaction with life in general, always repents of its 
sins in time, and confers upon its votaries such 
rewards as a magnificent house, a spanking span, and 
an income of from five to fifty thousand a year. 
This, however, is one of the lessons that must be 
learned by experience ; it does not come to the youth 
by intuition. 

For the present, the main duty of the young man 
lies in discovering for himself some congenial occu- 
pation into whose channels this superfluous energy 



YOUTH. 23 

may be directed. So long as this outlet remains unpro- 
vided, the moral welfare is greatly imperilled. When 
you generate steam with rapidity, you must furnish 
some way of escape for it, else it will burst the 
boiler. In like manner the accumulating energies 
of youth are bound to spend themselves in some 
way; and where no safe and regular occupation is 
afforded, they are liable to break through all res- 
traints and run riot in the most wanton manner. In 
the experience of the race it is generally the young 
who sound the deepest abysses of profligacy and 
shame. No one expects wild oats to be sown by 
greybeards. If you continue long without some 
legitimate outlet for your energy, there will be a ter- 
rific explosion some day, and a consequent moral 
wreck. 

But even after a business has been chosen, it is no 
easy task for us to bend these untamed forces within 
to the work that needs to be done without. It 
requires considerable skill and some experience to 
effect a perfect adjustment. To train the energies to 
harmonious and concentrated action, is a more diffi- 
cult feat than to train a dozen fiery colts to charge 
abreast in the ring. They are so impatient of res- 
traint that we feel compelled to humor them more or 
less. Under such circumstances it is not surprising 
that the young are sometimes charged with laziness. 
The charge is, of course, without foundation. The 
young are not lazy: they simply do not like to work. 
About all work there is more or less of restraint, and 
restraint is irksome and intolerable. Work is not 



2 4 BE A TEN PA THS. 

half active enough for the newly found powers of 
youth. It is too slow, too stupid, too constrained, too 
monotonous, to give scope to the surging, impetuous, 
uncontrollable forces within. It seems almost a sin 
and a shame to harness down a young and ardent 
spirit to the dull details of work, when it might be 
making for home-base with the rush of a whirlwind, 
or holding camp gainst frightful odds on some 
mosquito-haunted isle! 

But when you do get young people fairly harnessed 
down to the practical duties of life, what magnificent 
time they make! For all work that demands vigor 
and enthusiasm, this modern age puts a premium 
upon young men. When the reservoirs of power are 
full, the most stupendous tasks are discharged with 
the ease and speed of machinery, and obstacles that 
mature age would confront with doubt and dismay, 
are surmounted as if by magic. The impetuous 
ardor of youth hesitates at no difficulties. 

" All possibilities are in its hands, 
No danger daunts it, and no foe withstands; 
In its sublime audacity of faith, 
* Be thou removed! ' it to the mountain saith, 
And with ambitious feet, secure and proud, 
Ascends the ladder leaning on the cloud! " 

History furnishes a striking array of facts. Alex- 
ander the Great ascended the throne before he was 
twenty, and died at thirty-two, having conquered the 
world and effectually turned back that invading tide 
of Asiatics which threatened to deluge Europe. 
Hannibal assumed the commandership of the Carth- 



YOUTH. 



25 



aginian army in his twenty-ninth year, and at once 
entered upon the subjugation of Spain, as preparatory 
to his invasion of Italy. Cortes at thirty-three under- 
took the conquest of Mexico, and with a succession 
of triumphs that seem little short of the miraculous, 
brought it to a successful issue within the space of 
three years. Maurice of Saxony died at the early 
age of thirty-two, having established for himself the 
reputation of being the greatest general and diplo- 
matist of his times. Gustavus Adolphus died at 
thirty-eight, and Nelson was only forty-seven when he 
received his mortal wound at the battle of Trafalgar. 
Napoleon became a general at twenty-four, conquered 
Italy at twenty-six, was made First Consul at thirty 
and Emperor at thirty-two, and died at fifty-one, 
having seen in his brief career more changes than 
would ordinarily take place within a century. 

Washington became an Adjutant General at nine- 
teen and an ambassador at twenty-one. Jefferson 
at thirty-three wrote the Declaration of Independ- 
ence; and Alexander Hamilton helped to frame the 
Constitution of the United States when only thirty. 
In England, Bolingbroke was made Secretary of War 
at the early age of twenty-six; Pitt became Chan- 
cellor of the Exchequer at twenty-three; and Glad- 
stone held high governmental positions at twenty -six; 
while, in France, Gambetta was looked upon as a 
leader in advanced republican opinions when he was 
little more than thirty. 

The world of art and literature presents a similar 
array of the astounding achievements of youth. 



2 6 BE A TEN PA THS. 

Correggio died at forty-one, and Raphael at thirty- 
seven. Schubert passed away at thirty-one, Mozart 
at thirty-five, and Mendelssohn at thirty-eight. Sir 
Philip Sidney, whose name has become a synonym 
for courtly and gentle bearing, received his mortal 
wound at thirty-two. Chatterton, the famous boy r 
died at seventeen. Keats passed from earth at 
twenty-five, Shelley at twenty-nine, Byron at thirty- 
six, and Burns at thirty-seven. In his twenty-first 
year Milton wrote his famous ode, "On the Morning 
of Christ's Nativity;" at twenty-two Campbell had 
published his " Pleasures of Hope;" and long before 
he was thirty Tennyson had made for himself an 
enduring name in English literature. 

In the religious world we find Savonarola taking 
the decisive step of his life at twenty-two by entering 
a monastery. At twenty-eight Luther makes a stand 
for the doctrine of justification by faith, and thus turns 
the course of Christianity into Protestant channels.. 
At twenty-six Calvin publishes the first draft of his 
famous "Institutes." At twenty-one Melancthon is a 
professor, and the firm friend and famous advocate of 
Luther. At thirty Ignatius Loyola makes his famous. 
Pilgrimage, and writes the first draft of the " Spiritual 
Exercises." At twenty-four Whitfield moves all Lon- 
don with his eloquence, while Pascal dies at thirty- 
seven, "the greatest of Frenchmen." More deserving 
of notice than all these are the young men whose 
names appear on the first page of the Evangelists'' 
story, — the one, heralding the advent of the Messiah 
in the deserts of Judaea; the other, the Christ Himself. 



YOUTH. 27 

who accomplished His teachings and fulfilled His 
mission before the age of thirty-five. 

This array of famous names is not to be taken as 
signifying that the eminent men of the world all 
reach their celebrity in early life; the rule lies rather 
the other way. But these exceptions are so many 
and so marked as to indicate that there is something 
in the abounding energies of youth which, of itself, has 
made men famous, even before age has given ripe- 
ness and maturity to their talents. 

It is on the ground of this sudden influx of power 
that we are to explain the ambition which is so char- 
acteristic of youth as contrasted with old age. It 
seems to us in these early years as if we could 
not aim too high. The sense of inward power is so 
strong that we feel competent to attain almost any 
measure of success. Our experience of life is lim- 
ited, and we probably know of its hardships and 
dangers only from hearsay. We take small account 
of the palpable failures that meet us on every side. 
Our consciousness is so absorbed with the sense of 
our own development, that we have room for little 
else. We shall conquer the world by main strength,, 
we think, and thrust aside every impediment to our 
happiness and prosperity. 

I would not say a word to detract from the ambition 
and hopefulness of youth. Mighty and beneficent 
forces are these in the shaping of every noble career. 
But I would have you understand that the goal to 
which ambition points, is not to be won easily. 
Every young man who hopes for success should be 



2 8 BE A TEN PA THS. 

prepared to pay the price. There are hardships and 
burdens innumerable that must be borne before it 
can be yours. Great as may be the powers of youth, 
you will find that they are all needful in the realiza- 
tion of your ambitious plans. Tyndall reveals one 
of the secrets of Faraday's success, when he declares 
that the latter, though possessed of a naturally fiery 
temper, "through high self-discipline, converted his 
fire into a central glow and motive power of life, 
instead of permitting it to waste itself in useless pas- 
sion." For the real work and duty of life you will 
need every ounce of energy that the Divine Being 
has placed at your disposal. Nature is a rigid econ- 
omist. No young man is supplied with more force 
than is absolutely essential to his success. If you 
squander these noble energies, if you abuse them or 
misapply them, if you waste them in debauchery, in 
frivolity, in idle and profitless amusement, in out- 
bursts of wrath, or in useless repining, the loss will 
be simply irreparable. It is only as you follow the 
example of Faraday, and convert the fervor of youth 
into "a central glow and motive power of life," that 
you can hope to come off successful in the end. 

The sooner you make the discovery that hon- 
est work and worth are the things that win the 
prizes in life, the better it will be for you. Much as 
you may dream to the contrary, the fact remains, that 
Chance plays an exceedingly small part in human 
affairs. This world is administered by law. By law 
the elements combine; by law the tides flow and ebb; 
by law the stars rush forward in their orbits; by law 



YOUTH. 29 

the body grows, the mind matures, and the character 
ripens into perfection; and it is by law that men 
accumulate wealth, wisdom, and virtue. If you wish 
to be successful in this world, you must fulfil the laws 
upon which success is conditioned. 

Few indeed are the young men that do not dream 
of winning success in some easier manner than this. 
Few indeed are those who have never imagined that 
on some bright and glorious morning they would 
discover somewhere a pot of buried treasure, more 
than sufficient to protect them against penury and 
starvation. Or the dream may have been that some 
ambitious old gentleman, with an uncommon appre- 
ciation of genius and an uncommon amount of 
money, would ferret them out, and render his name 
illustrious by casting his riches at their feet. Or 
possibly, in some fertile brain, the old gentleman has 
become transformed into a young and beautiful 
princess, ready to endow the youth with untold 
millions in return for the unspeakable honor of his 
hand. From that fascinating web of poesy which 
the mind of youth is forever weaving, one might 
fancy that the land is filled with young and beautiful 
heiresses who spend their days in roaming to and fro 
over the earth in search of a genius for a mate. All the 
genius needs to do, is to hold himself aloof from mat- 
rimonial entanglements, until the princess with the 
golden hair and dollars rushes to his coy embrace ! 

Sooner or later we all discover that the princess 
does not come. It is foolish in her, no doubt, and 
exceedingly exasperating; but we have to accept the 



2,0 BE A TEN PA THS. 

fact, and forgive her as well as we can. Success comes 
by law. There are certain roads which, from time 
immemorial, have led straight to happiness, influence, 
and affluence. They are beaten hard by the tread of 
countless feet, and stand in no danger of being mis- 
taken. When a man starts out on any of these 
paths, the world immediately recognizes, that if he 
persevere, he will find success at the end of his 
journey. I would suggest to you the propriety of 
taking one of these sure and beaten roads, instead of 
striking out into the trackless forest in search of 
some shorter cut, which, notwithstanding the most 
diligent search of sixty centuries, man has failed to 
discover. Most young people love to be original, 
and originality is an excellent thing in its place; but 
those who have seen anything of the world know 
that the youths who spend their time in searching 
for original methods of winning success, are sure to 
end up at last with a very primitive and antiquated 
form of failure. If you wish to become truly origi- 
nal, heed the voice of the world's experience. The 
most original young fellows you can find, are those 
who have settled down with a firm determination to 
win their success in the old and appointed channels of 
industry, honesty, and frugality. Their plans and 
methods are so different from those of the average 
young man as to make them appear conspicuously 
singular. 

It is said that John Trebonius, the school-master 
of Luther, was accustomed to appear before his boys 
with uncovered head. "Who can tell," said he, 



YOUTH. 31 

"what doctors, legislators, and princes there may be 
among" them?" This sentiment has come echoing 
down to modern times. When any eminent indi- 
vidual is called upon to address the pupils of a 
modern school, it is customary for him to intimate 
that possibly some one of the boys there before him 
may distinguish himself by becoming President of 
the United States. And every boy's inward com- 
ment is apt to be, "That's so; he means me!" Each 
boy has a modest assurance that while there may be 
many incipient secretaries of state, and judges, and 
generals, and railway-conductors, and other eminent 
officials in that room, there sits there only one who 
is destined to become President of the United States, 
namely, himself. When such a feeling as this comes 
to ourselves, we call it a premonition of greatness; 
when it comes to other people, we call it conceit. By 
whatever name you may designate it, it is a common 
and prominent characteristic of the young. 

How is it to be accounted for? It seems to follow 
almost inevitably from the inexperience of youth. 
With our limited knowledge of life, it becomes dffi- 
cult for us to believe that there are hundreds and 
thousands, not to say millions, who are undergoing a 
development very similar to our own. It seems 
<juite incredible that a little planet like this earth 
should contain so many giants, and yet behave her- 
self so circumspectly. Filled with the consciousness 
of our own powers, our eyes are not open to per- 
ceive the abilities of others. It needs experience to 
teach us that there are countless numbers of our fellow- 



3 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

beings, whose talents and aspirations are in every 
way a match for our own. 

One of the most valuable lessons we can learn at 
this period, is that there are in this world thousands 
of abler, wiser, and better men than ourselves. The 
boy who resents our assumptions of superiority and. 
gives us a black eye, the student who flies ahead of 
us in our classes, the clerk who outsells us, and even 
the girl who jilts us in favor of another, must all, on 
philosophic grounds, be regarded as rendering us 
inestimable service. In fact, any experience that 
reveals to us the imperative necessity of doing some- 
thing for ourselves, instead of gloating over what 
nature has done for us, is more precious than rubies. 
So far as the great interests of life are concerned, 
nothing is more dangerous to the youth than the 
assumption that his own natural abilities are, in 
themselves, sufficient to give him recognition and 
distinction. That feeling has given birth to some of 
the most disagreeable and useless characters that the 
world has ever known. The young man who enter- 
tains it is doomed. Great as your natural powers 
may be, the world is sceptical concerning them. It 
has seen thousands with just such talents, ambitions, 
and hopes as yours, go down to utter ruin within the 
space of a few short years. It will not believe in 
your greatness until you make it believe. It will not 
stand aside to make room for you until you crowd 
it so hard that it is compelled to give you place. 
Our individual worth and the position that we reach 
in life depend quite as much on what we do for our- 



YOUTH. 33 

selves as on what nature has done for us. Without 
training, discipline, and culture, natural abilities are 
simply weeds. 

He that is doing nothing for his own self-improve- 
ment has no right, therefore, to expect the slightest 
consideration from others; but he that has begun to 
spend his energies in accordance with the best wis- 
dom that he has, is not to be condemned for seeking a 
word of commendation. That love of approbation 
which comes out so strongly in youth, is given that it 
may serve the highest interests of our being. It is 
only modest and right that the young should seek 
the approval of others whose experience of life is so 
much larger than their own. A word of praise from 
them is equivalent to saying: "Your disposition of 
the powers entrusted to you is wise and creditable. 
You have chosen the right course; keep to it, and 
you will win at last! " The desire of praise appears 
so different as to become contemptible, when it is 
found cropping out in some old man, who stands in 
no need of encouragement, but yields to the infirmity 
of itching ears and panders to the populace for its 
applause. 

From what has been said concerning the sudden 
and marked development that is given in youth to the 
motive forces of our nature, we can understand how 
it is that the young are generally led by impulse 
rather than by reason. Old age is temperate, cool, 
considerate; youth is fiery and headstrong. Age 
reasons and reflects; youth feels and asserts. Age is 
strongest in council; youth, in execution. The young 



3 4 BE A TEN PA THS. 

man stands ready to assert that a certain young 
lady is a paragon of beauty and modesty, when all 
the world knows that she has a pug-nose and a loud 
voice, and dresses by preference in red and yellow. 
Because the youth has had a little dispute with the 
Squire, he declares to all comers that the Squire's 
mansion is an old barn, notwithstanding the fact that 
every architect in the country has pronounced favor- 
ably upon it. Because his political party happens to 
be in power, he finds no difficulty in endorsing every 
act of consummate rascality that takes place under its 
administration, and hurrahs in public for men whom 
he would be reluctant to introduce to the sanctities 
of his home. His feelings are apt to run away with 
his judgment. He reveals his youth in a tendency to 
oppose what seems to the wisest the only rational 
view of things. We must admit, to be sure, that 
there are many people older than he, in whom this 
tendency has not utterly disappeared, and who mani- 
fest a decided proclivity to match their opinions 
against those of the rest of mankind. But at the 
same time, this disposition to set aside rational con- 
siderations and have our own way at all costs, is 
prevailingly characteristic of youth. Reflection 
ripens with experience. Age teaches us to respect 
the axioms. 

Let it be your aim, therefore, to cultivate habits of 
careful and accurate judgment. Try to see the truth 
at all times, and to see it in its wholeness and per- 
fection. Let no personal preference tempt you to 
treat it unfairly. No matter how much humiliation 



YOUTH. 35 

or unpleasantness may be involved in receiving it, 
let your mind and heart be always prepared to 
accord it a generous welcome. Be sure you are 
right, before you attempt to go ahead. There will 
come times in life when you will have to follow your 
own judgment rather than the opinions of those 
who may be about you; but be sure that it is 
your judgment, and not your temporary fancy or 
caprice. Look at life carefully and honestly; form 
your plans on the basis of the knowledge thus 
obtained; and then use all your energy in carrying 
out these plans, no matter how strong may be the 
opposition that meets you. 

But while I insist so strongly on the habit of reflec- 
tion and the lessons that may be learned from exper- 
ience, I believe there is, in the native feelings of the 
soul, something more desirable than all the wisdom 
that experience can bring to you. When I see the 
lip curl with scorn at the exhibition of meanness; 
when, at the recital of some heroic deed, the eye 
flashes, and the form straightens, and the tear of 
sympathy comes unbidden, then I know that in the 
young heart there is a wisdom more prudent and 
precious than anything that can ever be struck 
out of our contact with a hard and selfish world. 
This is a wisdom that comes direct from heaven # 
The soul that has so recently emerged out of the 
mists and darkness of the great unknown into the 
light of our little day, brings something with it from 
afar. The native feelings of the heart, in all moral 
and religious affairs, are to be implicitly trusted. 



36 BE A TEN PA THS. 

The head may, and will, go wrong. The basest 
deeds and the vilest creeds have never lacked for 
argument. But the heart that is young, and tender, 
and sensitive — the heart on which the hand of the 
Eternal has just been laid in rich development, 
seldom fails to respond aright to the great moral and 
spiritual realities. Keep your heart in the innocence 
and sensitiveness of youth; cherish every noble and 
disinterested sympathy; live out your love of purity, 
and your sense of honor, and your strong antipathy 
towards all that is mean and cruel. For " out of the 
heart are the issues of life." It is the cherishing- of 
the heart's higher impulses, that gives rise to gracious 
deeds; it is the dallying with baser thoughts and 
feelings, that transforms him who might have been 
among the noblest of his race into a traitor, a mur- 
derer, or a libertine. 

This early period of your life is freighted with the 
most solemn responsibilities. It is the critical time, 
the time in which the dramatic interest cumulates. 
After the few short years of youth have passed, the 
dramatic interest wanes, the door of opportunity 
closes, and the future ceases to be prolific of possi- 
bility. At twenty-one you have the chance of mak- 
ing almost anything of yourself; at thirty your 
character and career are no longer problematic. 
To-day the doors are closing upon your youth, and 
manhood summons you to toil and struggle. Every 
act now is fraught with the utmost significance. If 
you miss an education now, you will probably 
remain without it forever. If you form bad habits 



YOUTH. 2)7 

now, they will cling to you forever. If now, while 
the heart is most sensitive and susceptible, you 
steel it against high and holy influences, there is the 
strongest probability that you will continue to resist 
these influences to the end, and that the life which 
now points its course towards a godless noon, will 
vanish from human sight at last in the awful dark- 
ness of a godless night. 



II. 

SUCCESS. 



"Thy life, wert thou the pitifullest of all the sons of earth, is no 
idle dream, but a solemn reality. It is thy own. It is all thou hast to 
confront eternity with. Work, then, like a star, unhasting, yet unresting." 

— Carlyle. 

' ' A sacred burden is this life ye bear, 

Iyook on it, lift it, bear it solemnly, 
Stand up and walk beneath it steadfastly. 

Fail not for sorrow, falter not for sin, 
But onward, upward, till the goal ye win." 

— Frances Anne Kemble. 

MAN without ambition is a man 
without a future. He lacks the 
first condition of all improve- 
ment. Where one is ambitious, 
it signifies that he is incited to 
leave himself, his lot, his world, 
better than he found them. Na- 
ture intends us all to be ambitious, plants the motive 
in us at birth, and gives to it, in the rapid transition 
from childhood to youth, an extensive and surprising 
development. As we approach the age when our 
lives are to be handed over to our own charge and 
management, we feel impelled by almost resistless 
impulses to take hold of these lives and better them. 
A man's ambition is his guardian angel; when it for- 
sakes him he soon degenerates into a tool of circum- 




SUCCESS. 41 

stance and becomes the prey of fate. 

Ambition worships success. But success is some- 
thing about which men entertain the most vague, 
diverse, and unsatisfactory ideas, Long before they 
understand what success means, they build an altar 
to it, as to an unknown God, and worship blindly. 
Before they know where the goal lies, they enter 
upon the race. Before they see the target, they 
attempt to hit the bull's-eye. Under such circum- 
stances one cannot be surprised that the world is 
full of failures. 

In seeking to discover the essential elements of 
success, there are three mistakes into which we are lia- 
ble to falk The first is made by those who take it for 
granted that success consists mainly in beating some- 
body else or everybody else. Life is regarded as a 
race open to all comers Entries innumerable! 
Brilliant display, fierce emulation, reckless driving! 
Dust and clamor and strife! Then a prize for the 
fleetest, and disappointment and humiliation for the 
rest! Men are trained in this conception from their 
earliest years. The boy is taught that the successful 
student is the one who comes out first at examina- 
tions, and that all the rest are failures in greater or 
less degree. Social success is spoken of as attained 
only by her who eclipses all other members of the 
circle in which she moves. Business success is sup- 
posed to involve the humiliation of "the jealous 
competitor;" and political success is held to be 
synonymous with beating one's opponent at the polls. 
Schooled in such ideas, we can hardly avoid looking 



4 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

upon life as a competition, and upon success as con- 
sisting mainly in coming out ahead of all competitors. 
Now, I admit that there is no successful life from 
which this element of competition can be altogether 
eliminated. If you would climb to the top of the 
ladder, you must needs pass the individuals who 
stand beating time on the lower rounds. Every 
avenue that leads to success is crowded at the 
entrance with a host of incompetents, who must be 
outdistanced. But to make the element of compe- 
tition the distinctive feature of successful living, is 
little short of a sin and a shame. Into what a 
hideous nightmare would life be turned, on the sup- 
position that the Almighty puts us upon this earth, 
simply that we may vie and strive with one another, 
and run through all the stages of jealousy, envy, 
spite, rage, mortification, and despair! What would 
become of the Divine benevolence, on the assump- 
tion that the law of life is success and satisfaction 
for one, and defeat and humiliation for millions? If 
we are to be held responsible for the success or fail- 
ure of these lives of ours, success must be something 
that is possible to all — not only to those that are 
quick of brain and nimble of hand and foot, but 
also to those that come into life handicapped in head 
or heart or limbs. So far is the element of compe- 
tition an accidental thing, that even if you were all 
alone on the earth, you might nevertheless live a 
successful life; and if at the end of your career you 
had not reached this goal of human ambition, the 
fault would rest wholly with yourself. 



success. 43 

A second mistake consists in supposing that suc- 
cess in life means the accumulation of a fortune. 
The first question you ask concerning a stranger is, 
How much is he worth? When the answer happens 
to be, "A hundred thousand dollars," your involun- 
tary response is, "Successful man!" But when 
informed that t-he individual in question is not 
worth a thousand dollars all told, you are apt to 
dismiss the subject at once as profitless and unin- 
teresting. 

No doubt it would be delightfully simple to apply 
such a principle as this: To estimate the measure 
of a man's success, examine his bank account. But 
such a rule would hardly harmonize with the ideas of 
success that are commonly entertained by our 
fellow-men to-day. For the world at large, though 
it may seem to pay as little regard to the spiritu- 
alities of life as a turtle does to the beauties of the 
landscape, nevertheless counts some as pre-eminently 
successful, whose accumulations have never gone up 
into the thousands. Homer was a blind beggar. 
Socrates lived from hand to mouth, and left no 
accumulated property behind him. Jesus was the 
son of poor peasants, a wanderer without a home, 
whose only property was the clothes he wore, and 
who was compelled at death to commit his mother 
to the charities of a friend. And yet even this 
world, which is so ready to lay its financial measur- 
ing-rod over against every man's career, would not 
hesitate to admit that Homer, Socrates, and Jesus 
were, in their own way, successful. Nor are these 



44 BE A TEN PA THS. 

isolated cases: they are simply examples of that 
great class whose success is never estimated by 
monetary standards. The glorious company of the 
immortals in science, literature, art, and religion, 
need not the lustre of material wealth to make their 
names resplendent. Their success is assured with- 
out it. 

Indeed, the very individuals who seem so bent on 
worshipping Mammon as if it were Success, are apt 
to recoil from their divinity when he becomes incar- 
nate and reveals his true nature. Millions are not 
enough to secure to some the victor's palm. When 
the millionaire is a miser, he becomes the object of 
the people's scorn. When he yields to the dictates 
of a selfish and sordid ambition, and wins his wealth 
through the misery and sacrifice of others, — when he 
seeks to get riches by paying starvation wages, and 
wrests his fortune from the trembling hands of 
Penury and Pain, he is "damned to fame." The 
very wealth that he secures, ensures for him an 
immortality of hatred and contempt. Bad and blind 
as the world may be, it draws at times a sharp line 
of distinction between success in money-making and 
success in life. From the days of ancient fable, it 
has pictured Midas with the long ears of an ass; 
from the days of Aaron, it has left the golden calf 
to be worshipped by its human analogues. 

The third mistake arises through confounding sue- 
cess with popularity, reputation, fame. Among the 
ancients ambition pointed very generally in this 
direction; and in their letters and speeches they 



success. 45 

were accustomed to make the frankest avowals of 
their desire to become famous. It gives us a little 
shock to see them laying bare their motives with 
such unblushing freedom. In the modern world the 
acknowledgment of such a desire would be greeted 
with derision. Much as we may long for fame, we 
realize that the longing must be kept to ourselves. 
It seems as if something had taught the world that 
the desire of fame is hardly worthy of playing the 
leading part in the life of a human being. Not in 
vain, for these nineteen centuries, has there been 
held up to the people that picture of the ideally suc- 
cessful One, whose fate it was to be despised and 
and rejected of men. The world realizes as never 
before that to live for fame is to become a time- 
server, a weathercock responsive to every gust of 
popular feeling, a puppet whose leading-strings are 
in the hands of the unwashed, and whose attitudes 
are taken at the caprice of the crowd. 

Your success will depend more on what you are in 
yourself and on what you do for the world than on 
what the world thinks or says about you. The judg- 
ments of men are proverbially fickle and fallacious; 
the verdicts of the past are being constantly set 
aside. The heroes whose reputation endures the 
patient sifting of time are not those who have striven 
for popularity, but those who have striven for higher 
things, and have had popularity thrust upon them. 

In all these conceptions of success, the funda- 
mental error lies in substituting for success itself 
some of the things that usually accompany it. 



46 BE A TEN PA THS. 

Wealth, honor, position are common rewards and 
emoluments of the successful man; but his success 
is not dependent upon them. The tendency of the 
laws that regulate society to-day is to elevate him 
who is really successful into eminence, wealth, and 
favor; but this is only a manifest tendency, and not an 
assured certainty. In numberless instances the law 
seems inoperative, and the temporal reward is with- 
held; but the success is none the less genuine and 
acknowledged. The law is, that you will find the 
monarch accompanied by his courtiers; but a king 
is a king all the same, though no retinue attend him. 
You may be successful without ever winning posi- 
tion, wealth, or popularity; but the chances are that 
if you reach out after any worthy success, you will 
find these things following along in the wake of your 
endeavor. 

After attacking these conventional errors, I have 
the burden laid upon me of giving some adequate 
definition of the truly successful life. And I will 
offer this statement, that success consists in follow- 
ing the ideal. That may seem like a very misty and 
metaphysical definition, but it will answer for the 
present. The most important thing for you to recog- 
nize is this, that at the very roots of your ambition, 
giving to it constant encouragement and command- 
ing energy, there is something that is known as the 
ideal. As you read the history of your own times 
and the history of the past; as you look out upon 
your surroundings, or in upon your own heart; as 
you weigh men and sift characters; as you sit in judg- 



success. 47 

ment upon yourself and your circumstances, you 
are all the time making use of this ideal, without 
realizing what you are doing. It is among those 
intangible things that are mightier than the world. 
It is a celestial measuring-rod that you are all the 
time laying over against things terrestrial. It is a 
light from heaven that reveals the imperfections of 
the things of earth. By virtue of it you pass judg- 
ment on your environment, on men in general, and 
on yourself, and discover faults in these objects of 
your examination that could never have revealed 
themselves to any lower order of intelligence. You 
say that a certain individual does not come up to 
your standard, or that a certain array of circum- 
stances fails to satisfy you, simply because you have 
this lofty conception of what a man ought to be, 
and of the surroundings that are most appropriate 
to a human being. If it were not for this ideal, 
which asserts itself with every pulse of your life, 
nature would claim you altogether for her own, and 
you would become a simple child of earth, content 
to bask in the sunlight of the present, with no 
remorseful pangs and ambitious aspirations to dis- 
turb the serenity of the hour. But because you are 
rational and have this ideal, there is no rest for you 
except in endeavoring to realize it. 

Let me venture upon a description of this celestial 
standard by which we are all the time determining 
the success of men — this ideal of life by which we 
ourselves are commanded and chastised. It has in 
it these four elements: intelligence, happiness, recti- 



48 BE A TEN PA THS. 

tude, and utility. Every life that merits and meets 
your approval, possesses these elements in greater or 
less degree. They go into the making of all your 
heroes. And if you can only bring them in the 
right proportions into your own career, there cannot 
be the least doubt as to your ultimate success. -The 
man whose life gives evidence that he is intelligent, 
happy, good, and useful, everywhere commands 
respect. 

Every life, then, that is worthy of being called 
successful must be marked by intelligence. No 
career can ever win the esteem of men without being 
built on broad intellectual foundations. Without 
intelligence man fails of realizing himself as a 
rational being, and sinks to the level of the lower 
animals. I give this element the first place, because 
it is the indispensable condition of all the others. 
He w T ho is happy, upright, or useful because of his lack 
of intelligence, lives anything but an ideal existence. 
John Stuart Mill was right in declaring that it is better 
to be a Socrates dissatisfied than a pig satisfied. It 
is better to have intelligence without happiness, than 
happiness without intelligence. It is better to 
know the truth and be wretched, than to be happy 
through our ignorance. And even the man who 
remains outwardly moral or religious simply because 
he does not know enough to be anything else, is 
heartily and universally despised. No beauty of 
person, no hereditary title or estates, no freak of 
fortune such as sometimes brings sudden wealth to 
the pocket of the fool, can ever compensate for the 



SC'CCESS. 49 

lack of intelligence. That life in which the brain 
does not play a prominent part is not worthy ot a 
man. The fool is a failure from the very beginning. 
A man must be intelligent, or he can be nothing. 

Hence it is, that those in whom the intellectual 
powers have been unusually active, have always been 
enrolled among the great, even where the other ele- 
ments of the ideal — happiness, rectitude, and useful- 
ness — have been wanting. Manv, like Burns and 
Byron, have lived shameless and profligate lives; 
many others, like Johnson and Carlyle, have not, to 
all appearances, attained even an average degree of 
happiness; while others, again, like Xapoleon, have 
proved a positive scourge to the human race. But 
because these men have possessed in an eminent 
degree that intellectual element which goes into the 
making of our ideal, they are generally spoken of as 
successful. 

Happiness, also, must be regarded as a necessary 
constituent of the ideal life. A life of misery and 
pain always falls short of what we conceive to be 
possible. We feel that he who is steadily realizing 
the end and aim of his being, cannot q-o through the 
world wretched and desponding. When the birds 
are singing in the trees overhead and all the creatures 
of field and wood frolic with delight, shall man, whose 
endowments are so infinitely superior to theirs, be 
compelled to abide on a lower level of joy? The 
only picture of manhood that satisfies the soul, is 
that of the hero facing the calamities and limitations 
of life with a cheerful and inexhaustible courao-e. 



50 



BE A TEN PA THS. 



The blasts of November may strike a pang to the 
heart of beast and bird; but the happiness of a 
rational being is not left dependent upon nature's 
moods. If circumstances are not congenial, the 
ideal man should be strong enough to master his 
circumstances, and rejoice notwithstanding them. So 
strongly is this felt, that, in many cases, unhappiness 
is accepted as a sure indication of failure. Men 
might know that the accumulation of wealth does 
not constitute success, if for no other reason, simply 
because of this, that he who has spent time and 
strength in amassing a fortune is often as wretched 
as the poorest of his fellows. While mere pleasure- 
seeking can never be regarded as a worthy aim in 
itself, we all feel that the life which does not yield 
constant fruitage of satisfaction and delight, is not 
the life for which the spirit longs, and towards the 
realization of which ambition spurs us forward. 

The ideal life demands rectitude. The element of 
character is emphasized by all who have given any 
thought to this subject of success. Character is not 
simply a means to success: it is success. It is the 
moral hero, that comes nearest to attaining the full 
stature of the ideal man. The men and women who, 
for conscience' sake, walk into the jaws of poverty, 
disease, or death, afford a picture of moral fortitude, 
beside which Croesus and Alexander and Napoleon 
are not worthy to be noticed. What pomp of power 
or equipage of wealth can begin to give such an 
impression of strength and grandeur, as does the 
sight of John Huss going to the stake rather than 



SUCCESS. 



51 



recant what he believed to be the truth? Such men 
quicken the perceptions of the world, and teach us 
what success really means. In their lofty presence, 
questions of how to make money, or how to become 
merely popular, sink into utter contempt. 

Bad and blind as the world often is, it has a gen- 
erous appreciation of the worth of moral character. 
Byron and Napoleon may be lauded for a generation, 
but the current of popular favor turns with time, and 
the mature judgment of history concerning them 
becomes one of condemnation. No amount of talent 
can compensate for moral depravity. One may be 
successful as a general or a poet, and yet be a conspic- 
uous failure as a man. 

The ideal of righteousness involves religion. No 
man who refuses to discharge his obligations toward 
God, can be looked upon as thoroughly and deeply 
honest. The ideal life is lived only by him who, in 
his work, his domestic and social relationships, his 
silent thought and open speech, steadily endeavors 
to realize his calling as a son of the Highest. That 
life which holds itself constantly within the limita- 
tions of the present, taking no account of the things 
unseen and intangible, having no outlook upon the 
eternities, and drawing no inspiration through con- 
verse with the heavenly powers, lacks the main ele- 
ment that can lend charm and dignity and grandeur 
to human existence. Without religion, he that was 
made after the measurements of heaven, becomes 
dwarfed to the mean dimensions of earth. Religion 

is the field in which the intelligence finds its loftiest 

4 



5 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

rancre, and in which are discovered the fountains of 
abiding joy. Religion is the root and stalk from 
which morality drinks its life, and on which useful- 
ness appears as the matured and perfect fruit. He 
that lives as a son of God, ranks higher in the scale 
of being than he that lives as the son of an emperor. 

Last of all, I would speak of that element of use- 
fulness which, with the progress of time, has been 
unfolded and made prominent in our ideal of life. 
The knowledge that proves of no benefit to the race, 
is useless knowledge. The happiness that does not 
communicate itself to others, is selfish and unprofit- 
able. The righteousness that does nothing for the 
uplifting of the world, falls short of the spirit and 
teachings of Christianity. This modern age is utili- 
tarian. It has no place for the hermit. It calls for 
saints who, like David of old, will smite some Goliath 
for the deliverance of their people. The life that 
does not prove useful to others is most unquestion- 
ably a failure; while he who leaves his fellow-men 
better, happier, and more efficient than he found 
them, is universally recognized as having lived to 
some purpose. 

Arkwright, Fulton, and Stephenson were successful 
men, not so much because they amassed money, as 
because they gave to the world those inventions 
which are associated with their names, and which 
have proved of so much permanent benefit to the 
race. Socrates and Shakespeare were successful men, 
because their thought has furnished meat and drink 
to so many minds among the generations that have 



success. 53 

followed them. Washington and Grant deserve a 
high place on the roll of those who have been suc- 
cessful, not simply because they won battles — for 
bandits and buccaneers have done that — but because 
they rendered indispensable service in the upbuilding 
of a £reat nation. Without usefulness no real sue- 
cess is possible. A life that is of no use to the world, 
is not worth the living. 

If we take the ideal composed of these several ele- 
ments, and apply it to the great characters of history, 
we shall find many and striking deficiencies. The 
grandest lives are, after all, only a series of endeavors, 
resulting, in each case, in an approximation to the 
ideal, but never in a complete realization of it. 
Jesus of Nazareth is the only fulfilment of our 
inward vision of perfection that the world has ever 
known. His was an intelligence, alert, comprehen- 
sive, and penetrative — an intelligence whose superb 
mastery of fundamental truths has been the delight 
and surprise of all who have pondered His sayings. 
His was a joy that overflowed amidst the most 
austere and unpromising conditions — a joy so deep, 
so divine, so triumphant, that, even in the last and 
saddest scenes of His life, in the hour of betrayal 
and death, He made special mention of it, longing to 
communicate it to His disciples. His was the moral 
rectitude that would go to Calvary rather than 
pander for a moment to the prejudices and carnal 
ambitions of His countrymen. And His influence for 
the upbuilding of men is to be discovered on almost 
every page of history and in every institution of 



5 4 BE A TEN PA THS. 

Christendom. The world is not accustomed to think 
and speak of the life of Jesus as a conspicuously suc- 
cessful one; but that it was successful in the best and 
divinest sense, we are compelled to hold, if we can 
place any reliance whatever upon that ideal of suc- 
cess by which we are all the time measuring and 
judging the achievements of men. 

Jesus is perfectly and absolutely successful; others 
are successful only imperfectly and relatively. In 
respect of knowledge, of happiness, of moral charac- 
ter, and of usefulness, there exists the most striking 
disparity among men. One man's mind is alert and 
powerful, while another's is sluggish and dull. One 
is moody by nature, while his friend is naturally 
cheerful and contented. One strikes with ease the 
deepest and richest chords of human experience; 
another nature is attuned only to the lightest strains. 
One man is honest and upright, and may be trusted 
always and everywhere ; but his fellow is noted 
for duplicity. One is capable of rendering the most 
efficient service to society, while his companion is 
useless. 

Hence arises the question, To what are we to attrib- 
ute this great variation which exists between different 
individuals in the realization of the ideal? In other 
words, what conditions the grade or measure of a 
man's success? Briefly, the degree of success that 
one may attain depends upon three things: his orig- 
inal endowment, the circumstances by which he is 
surrounded, and himself. 

When Henry Ward Beecher was asked the secret 



success. 55 

of his wonderful health, he humorously retorted that 
it resulted, in the first place, from his having chosen 
the riodit sort of father and mother. There is such 
a thing as the law of heredity, without which no 
progress, physical, intellectual, or moral, could be 
made from one generation to another. George 
Herbert hit off the truth with the quaint remark, 
"He that comes of a hen must scrape." Faults -and 
vices, powers and virtues, habits and tendencies are 
mysteriously propagated. When the fathers eat 
sour grapes, the children's teeth are set on edge. 
The secret of many a man's intellectual and moral 
power lies in those accumulated resources of culture 
that have been transmitted to him from preceding 
generations. 

There is, therefore, a vast diversity in the natural 
endowments of men. One child has a strong physi- 
cal constitution, and another is weak. One has a quick 
and vigorous mind and can learn readily, while another 
must plod. One has pronounced moral tendencies, 
and another has a proclivity toward vice. Nature 
does not make all men equal in respect of physical, 
intellectual, or moral power. From the beginning 
of history some have been naturally fitted to lead, 
and others to follow. It is evident that the Divine 
Being has not intended every thinker for a Plato, nor 
every soldier for a commander-in-chief. If any law 
should be clear, it is this. And yet it is just this law 
that much of the teaching of to-day ignores. The 
young are trained to believe that they can by their 
own exertions reach any position, however exalted, 



5 6 BE A TEN PA THS. 

to Avhich they may aspire. It is difficult to see how 
any philosophy of life could be more false or perni- 
cious than this. You might as well endeavor to 
train an old dray-horse into a racer, or try to turn 
an elephant into a ballet-dancer, as expect to de- 
velop certain individuals who shall be nameless, into 
eminent scholars, politicians, or poets. Nature is 
too strongly against it from the start. No amount 
of toil or discipline would ever enable the rag-man 
to write "Hamlet." The degree of intellectual effort 
that would give to one man an international celeb- 
rity, would hardly fit another for editing a country 
newspaper. And in the moral sphere, "as much 
grace as would make John a saint, would barely keep 
Peter from knocking a man down." 

It would be well, therefore, for parents, edu- 
cators, and, in fact, for everybody to recog- 
nize these radical differences between men in 
the way of inherited ability. It is unjust to 
judge all by a single and invariable standard. It is 
ridiculous for all to aspire towards positions of emi- 
nence. If we can read God's intentions concerning 
us from the powers that He has given, He evidently 
wishes the great majority of us to be just common 
men and women. The presumption is that we shall 
never become Raphaels or Vanderbilts, no matter 
how hard we may try. If we apply the talents we 
have to their legitimate and highest use, we may be 
sure of winning success; but to attempt things for 
which we have little or no qualification, is to invite 
failure. 



success. 57 

Circumstances, also, play a leading part in condi- 
tioning the measure of a man's success. Knowledge 
and wisdom, peace and happiness, virtue and useful- 
ness are, in no small degree, dependent upon them. 

" There's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
Rough hew them how we will." 

"Under different circumstances," says Castelar, 
"Savonarola would undoubtedly have been a good 
husband, a tender father, a man unknown to history, 
utterly powerless to print upon the sands of time 
and upon the human soul the deep trace which 
he has left. But misfortune came to visit him,, 
to crush his heart, and to impart that marked mel- 
ancholy which characterizes a soul in grief; and the 
grief that circled his brows with a crown of thorns 
was also that which wreathed them with the splendor 
of immortality. His hopes were centered in the 
woman he loved, his life was set upon the possession 
of her; and when her family finally rejected him, 
partly on account of his profession, and partly on 
account of his person, he believed that it was death 
that had come upon him, when in truth it was im- 
mortality." 

Lessing makes one of his characters say that God 
"loves to guide the strongest resolutions, the most 
unmanageable projects of men, by the weakest lead- 
ing-strings." A spider's web determines the career 
of Bruce; a singing tea-kettle, that of Watt. 
Mahomet's destiny is shaped by the flight of a bird; 
while, as Pascal has pointed out, if Cleopatra's nose 



5 8 BE A TEN PA THS. 

had only been a trifle shorter, the entire course of 
European history might have been different. "A 
kiss from my mother," said Benjamin West, "made 
me a painter." David Hume, being appointed to 
present the arguments against Christianity in a cer- 
tain debating society, posts himself on the sceptical 
side of the subject, and is thereby led to forsake the 
faith of his fathers, and becomes an uncompromising 
Deist. Thomas Clarkson, in preparing a university 
essay on the lawfulness of slavery, comes across a 
History of Guinea, and moved by the horrors that it 
details, forthwith espouses the cause of abolition. 
Dr. Guthrie, entering an inn for refreshment, sees 
over the chimney-piece a picture of* John Pounds, 
the cobbler of Portsmouth, teaching a band of 
ragged children; and by that little accident Guthrie's 
life is influenced to such an extent that he himself 
becomes famous as a founder of ragged schools. 

" There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune." 

When the tide of circumstance sets in toward 
intelligence, happiness, goodness, and usefulness, we 
are lifted onward to success with very little effort of 
our own. But when the. tide is contrary, we are com- 
pelled to struggle hard against it. There are certain 
circumstances that almost compel one to be devout; 
there are others to which nothing but vice seems 
congenial. It is easier to be a saint beneath the 
arches of Westminister than before the footlights; 
it is easier to put forth the mind's best powers in 



SUCCESS. 



59 



the stimulating society of students than when sur- 
rounded by blockheads and dullards; it is easier to 
be happy amid the amenities of home than beneath 
a wintry sky and beside an open tomb. When some 
great crisis rouses every energy to the utmost, it 
seems not so hard to do generous deeds and play 
the hero's part; but the heroic life becomes difficult 
indeed in those peaceful and prosaic days that are 
destitute of all emergency. 

Circumstances develop men, just as the warm 
breath of spring brings forth the buds and leaves. 
The circumstance of war has brought men to the 
Senate, to the Cabinet, and even to the Presidency 
of this Republic, who would else have remained 
comparatively unknown. What would Shakespeare 
have amounted to, if he had first seen the light in 
the interior of Africa, instead of at Stratford-on- 
Avon? In one sense his circumstances were the 
making of him. 

And yet no one knows better than you yourself, 
that in the moulding of life and destiny there is 
a power infinitely stronger than that exerted by our 
environment upon us. Man may be the child of cir- 
stances, but he is never their slave. The grandest 
and yet the simplest of truths is that we are free. If 
we cannot be sure of that, we cannot be sure of any- 
thing. It is one of the primary deliverances of con- 
sciousness , and receives constant confirmation in our 
growing experience. It is this freedom that makes 
us men. "He who is firm in will," says Goethe, 
"moulds the world to himself." He is the mightiest 



60 BE A TEN PA THS. 

factor in the making of himself and his career. He 
may rise above his antecedents, if he will; he may 
command his circumstances and bend them to the 
accomplishment of his desire. When Napoleon was 
told that the Alps made it impossible for him to 
carry his artillery into Italy, he cried, "There shall 
be no Alps! Impossible is found only in the dictionary 
of fools! " Before the power of that imperious per- 
sonality the Alps went down, and the road across 
the Simplon was constructed. 

There is no difficulty in the way of genuine success r 
that the resolute will cannot conquer. Will-power 
may not be sufficient to lift us into affluence or emi- 
nence; but knowledge, happiness, character, and use- 
fulness are all within its reach. At its command the 
mind braces itself for new victories, the powers of 
thought rejoice in its sovereignty, and the imagina- 
tion takes wings at its bidding. In the midst of 
harsh surroundings, the man of will need never fail 
of delight. Before his stroke the rock flows with 
water, and joy springs up for him, like a fountain in 
the desert. There is no height of character to 
which he cannot climb with time, and no reason why 
the noblest type of usefulness should not be his. 

Success comes to him who resolutely, persistently 
does his best, with the powers that God has given 
him, and under the circumstances in which Provi- 
dence has placed him. Epictetus says, in one of the 
famous passages of his Manual'. "Remember that 
you are an actor of just such a part as is assigned 
you by the Poet of the play; of a short part, if the 



SUCCESS. 6 1 

part be short; of a long part, if it be long. Should 
He wish you to act the part of a beggar, take care 
to act it naturally and nobly; and the same if it be 
the part of a lame man, or a ruler, or a private man; 
for this is in your power, to act well the part assigned 
to you; but to choose that part is the function of 
another." 

So far as human beings are concerned, there can 
be no question as to whether anyone is perfectly 
realizing the ideal, for nobody does that. The only 
possible question is whether we are doing our best 
to realize it out of the materials that are placed at 
our disposal. Our responsibility cannot be greater 
than our opportunity. 

"Who does the best his circumstance allows, 
Does well, acts nobly ; angels could no more." 

If we go forth day by day, striving to turn to the best 
use every opportunity that is given us, and endeavor- 
ing, hour by hour, to live the ideal life amid the limita- 
tions of the present, we may count upon attaining 
the highest and most satisfying success that is open 
to a human being. 

Take up your life, then, in the spirit of a true 
artist, and strive to turn every day into a thing of 
beauty. Let your eating and drinking, your sleep and 
your waking, your toil and rest, all contribute to the 
furtherance of this engrossing purpose. As you go 
to your work, whether it be the mending of shoes or 
the making of sonnets, let it be your ambition to do 
perfect work, work of which you need never feel 



6 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

ashamed. Amid the responsibilities and duties that 
pertain to you as a husband, a father, a citizen, a 
child of God, endeavor to play to the best of your 
ability that part which the great Poet has assigned 
you. Search for opportunities of usefulness; reach 
down a helping hand to those who are in poverty 
and pain; and let no day fly back into the bosom of 
eternity without some record of good and precious 
deeds. To live thus, is to live successfully. 

" If we sit down at set of sun, 
And count the things that we have done, 

And, counting, find 
One self-denying act, one word 
That eased the heart of him who heard, 

One glance most kind, 
That fell like sunshine where it went, 
Then we may count that day well spent. 
But if, through all the livelong day, 
- We've eased no heart by yea or nay; 

If, through it all, 
We've done no thing that we can trace 
That brought the sunshine to a face, — 

No act most small, 
That helped some soul and nothing cost, 
Then count that day as worse than lost." 

When Donatello, the Forentine sculptor, had com- 
pleted his statue of Judith, so filled was he with 
enthusiasm for the almost breathing image of chas- 
tity and fortitude, that he exclaimed, " Speak! I am 
sure you can!" Oh, if we could only catch such fer- 
vor of enthusiasm for that gracious ideal whose 
inward glow gives " light to all our seeing" in this 



SUCCESS. 63 

world; that ideal which revealed itself to the Hebrew 
singer so many centuries ago as " the beauty of holi- 
ness," and which, through all the ages, has been the 
" true light, lighting every man that cometh into the 
world;" if with tireless energy and patience inexhausti- 
ble, we could reproduce the divine beauty of that 
heavenly vision in thought and word and deed, 
through these lives that God has given us — then 
should we leave behind us something that, in precious 
lessons and exalting influence, would speak through 
all the years that are to come! 

Some kind of life we must live. We can live but 
once. We may live nobly. 



III. 

THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 



"- A man who will take the world easily, will never take it grandly." 

—John Stuart Blackie. 

" Better to stern with heart and hand 

The roaring tide of life, than lie 
Unmindful, on the flowery strand, 

Of God's occasions floating by ; 
Better with naked nerve to bear 
The needles of this goading air, 

Than, in the lap of sensuous ease, forego 

The godlike power to do, the godlike aim to know." 

— Whittier. 

" He who has battled, were it only with poverty and hard toil, will 
he found stronger and more expert than he who could stay at home from 
the battle, concealed among the provision-wagons, or even rest unwatch- 
fully, ' abiding by the stuff.' " — Carlyle. 

ANY people desire success ; few- 
realize what it costs. In our 
outlook upon the future, life 
takes on the aspect of a voyage 
in summer-time, when every 
breath of wind is favorable and 
every wave propitious ; and we 
expect to reach the harbor of success without storm 
or struggle, weariness or pain. In our retrospect of 
the past, life seems more like a passage through win- 
try seas, where the winds rise to a hurricane and the 
waves are fraught with peril. Youth sails out from 
port with festive music and flying colors ; old age 








THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 



THE BA TTL E OF L IFE. 6 7 

creeps into the haven, battered and weather-worn, 
with a psalm of thanksgiving. 

He is wise who heeds the testimony of experience, 
and braces himself for the coming- struo-ode. Not 
without hardship and vigil, peril and conflict, can the 
goal of our ambition be won. Against you there are 
matched foes numerous and tireless, and the whole 
problem of your success turns upon the question 
whether you will overcome these enemies of yours, or 
weakly and irresolutely go down before them. The 
prizes of life are simply trophies won by those heroic 
few who have come off victors in the stubborn 
strife. 

Look, for instance, at the matter of health. Your 
very existence in this world involves a continuous 
struggle with nature. Are there not a hundred hos- 
tile forces that wage interminable war against you? 
You had no more than opened your eyes upon the 
universe before the north wind threatened to. blow 
you back into eternity. Nature attacked you with 
all her strength and strategy. She roasted you with 
fever, and strangled you with whooping-cough, and 
poisoned you with malaria. She loaded every 
mouthful of food with colic, and filled every dew- 
drop with croup. She provoked you into making 
the most hazardous experiments with her forces of 
heat and gravity, and insinuated that there was 
nothing to be feared in pointed pin or glittering 
steel, or in the contents of that mysterious bottle 
which your baby fingers had filched from its hiding- 
place. The story of your hair-breadth escapes by 



68 BE A TEN PA THS. 

field and flood and pantry Avould make a most thrill- 
ing tale. 

Thus far, assisted by your parents and the family 
physician, you have proved more than a match for 
the forces that nature has directed against your 
physical well-being; and she seems to you so like an 
inoffensive old lady that you permit yourself to call 
her mother — Mother Nature! But it is well to re- 
member that there are others in this world to whom 
she seems less benignant, and who might possibly 
prefer to speak of her as Step-mother or Mother- 
in-law. 

When you and nature have a tussle together, it 
makes all the difference in the world which comes 
out on top. If you prevail, nature will charge her- 
self with as much sweetness and light as a politician 
manifests in the month before elections; but where 
nature gets the upper hand, no despot of the nur- 
series that ever brandished switch or slipper over 
the shrinking flesh, is to be mentioned beside her. 
Conquer nature, and you will enjoy the blessings of 
health, and live out the allotted three score years and 
ten; but let nature conquer you, and she will either 
destroy you at once, or hold you a distressed captive 
in the excruciating shackles of disease. Nature is 
always presenting this two-fold character. You call 
the sun the glorious god of day, whose bounty 
quickens the million pulses of life throughout crea- 
tion; but the sun is also a pitiless demon, whose 
shafts of fire strike men dead in open field or 
crowded street. You think of the river as a good 



THE BA TTLE OF LIFE. 69 

natured giant, in whose mighty arms the burden of 
laden vessels is carried for a thousand miles; but 
the river knows no mercy towards the weak, and, 
deaf to pray and tears and lamentations, smothers 
them to de with imperturbable malignity. The 
lightning is your fleet footed servant, and will carry 
your message to the ends of the earth with the 
celerity of thought itself; but lose your control of it 
for a single instant, and with a flash, its quick 
descending blow will hurl you to perdition. Whether 
the north wind shall prove your benefactor or your 
executioner rests altogether with yourself; conquer 
it, and there will be roses on the cheek and laughter in 
the heart; but if it conquer you, it will clamp the 
chest with iron bands and rack you with the pains of 
dissolution. 

The history of the world tells in still another way 
this story of man's struggles with nature, and of his 
limited victories over her. For civilization is some- 
thing that the race has won in spite of difficulties. 
Man has not been lifted into the civilized state; he 
has climbed towards it. What has nature done for 
him? What does she do for him to-day? She 
starves him, and bandies him about, and thwarts his 
purposes at every turn. She sows his garden-plot 
with weeds and blights his harvests. She turns the 
beasts of the forest loose upon his flocks. She dries 
up his springs and streams. She makes the pesti- 
lence to steal upon him in the darkness, and poisons 
the air with miasma. When he builds his hut, she 

straightway attacks and disfigures it, and with tooth 

5 



70 BE A TEN PA THS. 

of rust and rot begins to devour it above his head. 
When he puts his thought upon the canvas, she 
makes the colors fade ; and when he puts it into 
stone, she chips it with the hammers of the frost, and 
gnaws away its symmetry with relentless chemistry of 
sun and rain. 

To this extent nature is man's sworn and invet- 
erate foe, and the story of civilization is simply a 
narrative of how she has been conquered. The his- 
tory of every science and every art is a record of 
struggle, of partial and temporary defeat, and of 
ultimate victory. By slow degrees and in stubborn 
conflict the human mind has overcome natures 
secrecy, discovered her occult laws, wrested from her 
the sceptre of her ancient reign, chained her, and 
compelled her, like Samson of old grinding in the 
prison-house, to discharge the most menial tasks for 
her captors. Every constituent of civilization re- 
solves itself into a trophy won by man in this persis- 
tent conflict. 

You will understand, of course, that I am looking 
at nature in her mother-in-law aspect only. If you 
have a disposition to argue, I dare say you might 
cite half-a-dozen proofs of her beneficence for every 
example of her antipathy that I have adduced. 
Nevertheless, this is to be accepted, that it is only to 
him who fights and conquers that nature is benign, 
and that she is relentless to all men and races that 
give way before her. 

The necessity of struggle holds also in the higher 
departments of living. The path to knowledge, for 



THE BA TTLE OF LIFE. J I 

example, is overspread with many impediments. As 
a result of long experience men agree in declaring 
that no one can hope to make satisfactory progress 
in intellectual pursuits without taking pains. Let 
me call your attention to the wealth of wisdom 
bound up in that little expression taking pains. It 
implies that one voluntarily submits himself to pain 
of some sort for the sake of the advantages accru- 
ing. He that is not heroic enough to brave the pains 
cannot hope to receive the reward. 

A thousand obstacles confront the ambitious 
student. It is just as true now as in the days of 
Ecclesiastes that "much study is a weariness of the 
flesh." The higher intellectual energies are hamp- 
ered by the body. The flesh wars against the spirit, 
and the spirit against the flesh. The mind is like a 
frisky colt, and must be tamed and disciplined, before 
it will do anything that deserves the name of work. 
Nature guards her secrets with sedulous care, and 
reveals them only to the most patient and indus- 
trious investigator. The truths that are deepest 
elude and perplex us ; so difficult is it to grasp them 
that it is still a burning question whether they are 
truths at all, or only will-o'-the-wisps that float above 
those unexplored and marshy regions which form the 
favorite resort of the unscientific mind. 

Every student is confronted by these obstacles, and 
never yet has a commanding thinker appeared who 
did not owe his power to his victory over them. No 
matter how advantageous maybe our circumstances, 
this battle is inevitable. He that would have the 



7 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

truth must fight for it. And I venture to say that 
amidst the discordant voices of this present age, 
when it is so easy to settle down into mean and 
cowardly agnosticism, to fight on until the precious 
boon of truth is won, requires more genuine courage 
and resolution than is ever needed in overcoming 
those purely outward circumstances that are unfavor- 
able to study. If we can only surmount the obsta- 
cles that stand in the way of the truth itself, there is no 
difficulty in our earthly lot that should be able to 
debar us from culture. Jean Paul declared, "I have 
made as much out of myself as could be made out 
of the stuff!" Every man has a hand in his own 
making; and should it appear at last that he is badly 
made, the blame attaches to himself, rather than to 
circumstances, which are only another name for Provi- 
dence. It 

" is not in our stars, 
But in ourselves, that we are underlings." 

George Stephenson taught himself to read after 
he had become a full grown man. John Hunter, the 
famous anatomist, could barely read and write when 
he was twenty years of age. Linnaeus was so poor 
as to be compelled to mend his shoes with folded 
paper, and was frequently obliged to beg his meals 
from his friends. Hugh Miller began his study of 
geology while working as a stone-mason. Elihu 
Burritt, though he started in the world as apprentice 
to a village blacksmith, mastered fifty languages, and 
eventually distinguished himself as a speaker, a 



THE BA TILE OF LIFE. ^ 

writer, and a philanthropist. Let us recognize, there- 
fore, that even under the most favorable circum- 
stances scholarship must be fought for, and that even 
under the least favorable circumstances it may be 
gained by him who is willing to do battle for it with 
all his power. 

Even such a thing as our own personal happiness 
falls under this great law : it cannot be maintained 
except by struggle. Without the strenuous co-oper- 
ation of the will, the most favorable combination of 
circumstances that heart can imagine, does not suf- 
fice to ensure a life of unalloyed enjoyment. " Uneasy 
lies the head that wears a crown." The child crying 
amidst a profusion of toys and the millionaire rest- 
less amidst the most sumptuous surroundings, are 
sights familiar to us all. There is always something 
for us to overcome before we can be happy. Troubles 
may cease to appear from without, but they do not 
cease to arise from within. Even when the outward 
sky is clearest, the mental horizon is apt to be over- 
cast. In whatever lot we may be placed, the imagi- 
nation is sure to raise its spectres and marshal them 
against our peace. Our tendency is to scan the future 
with anxiety and foreboding, and we have to fight 
this tendency and put it down, before we can be 
happy. 

These imaginary evils of life are unquestionably 
the greatest that we have to face ; but at the same 
time there are real evils that find an entrance into 
every lot. The depressing influences of the weather, 
the drudgery of work, the embarrassments of poverty, 



74 BE A TEN PA THS. 

the faithlessness of friends, the ravages of death — 
these are all as old as the race, and as common as 
hands and feet. 

" There is no flock, however watched and tended, 

But one dead lamb is there! 
There is no, fireside, howsoe'er defended, 

But has one vacant chair! 
The air is full of farewells to the dying, 

And mournings for the dead; 
The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, 

Will not be comforted." 

While human life is thus liable to be invaded at 
any time by disaster and adversity, let no one expect 
to live happily in the world without mustering all his 
resources of strength and courage against these dis- 
turbing influences. It is easier to give way to grief, 
to brood over it, and to nurse it until it has grown 
beyond all rational proportions, than it is to restrain 
and suppress it. But the latter is the only wise and 
manly course. The easier course is never the one 
upon which rewards and premiums are likely to be 
bestowed. 

Virtue itself is not attainable without the most 
strenuous and unremitting conflict. It is awarded 
only as a prize to those who overcome their tempta- 
tions. There is not a single hour of our existence in 
which we are perfectly free from inducements to evil. 
How universal and inveterate are these foes of our 
manhood! They surround us on every hand, lie in 
wait for us at every ambush, leap forth upon us at 
the most unexpected seasons, and lay siege to the 



THE BA TTLE OF LIFE. 75 

sou] by night and by day. Working or resting, in 
country or town, behind the desk, at the fireside, and 
even in the sanctuary itself, temptation obtrudes 
itself upon us, and challenges us to come forth to 
battle. Until we meet these enemies of all that is 
good, we are simply characterless ; after we have met 
them, we have a character good or bad, according as 
we have overcome or been vanquished. 

If you have any ambition to rise in life, what has 
been said will indicate the method by which your 
success is to be won. Whether you measure success 
by the money-standard or by some higher spiritual 
gauge, in either case it is something for which men 
must do battle. The great merchants, inventors, dis- 
coverers, poets, scholars, generals, and legislators are 
men who have steadily fought their way to the front 
against all resistance. 

" The heights by great men reached and kept 
Were not attained by sudden flight, 
But they, while their companions slept, 
Were toiling upward in the night." 

There is not one of them who had not to wrestle 
with and overcome difficulties before which less reso- 
lute spirits would have succumbed. Milton was 
blind. Calvin was a life-long invalid. Josiah Wedg- 
wood was a cripple. Pope was a poor little hunch- 
back whose spindling legs had to be padded out 
every morning with three pairs of stockings in order 
to prevent him from becoming a laughing-stock. 
Henry Fawcett, England's late Postmaster-General, 



7 6 BE A TEN PA THS. 

was blind ; yet not only did he fill with acceptance the 
chair of political economy at Cambridge, but so con- 
versant was he with the practical affairs of his office 
and so capable in conducting them, that it is said he 
deserves to rank next to Sir Rowland Hill in point of 
the service that he rendered to the public. The poet 
Wordsworth was compelled to work steadily along 
with but little recognition, until the standards of Eng- 
lish literary taste had become completely transformed 
under his influence. The manuscript of Thackeray's 
" Vanity Fair " is said to have gone a-begging, and to 
have been rejected by a dozen different publishers be- 
fore it came forth to the outside world. Charlotte 
Bronte, likewise, was compelled to send the manuscript 
of "Jane Eyre" from one publishing-house to another, 
until she almost despaired of seeing this, her greatest 
work, in print. Sheridan's first speech in the House 
of Commons was a complete failure; and it was only 
through invincible determination and prolonged study 
that he became able, at length, to rise to that height 
of eloquence which marked his famous impeachment 
of Warren Hastings. Robert Hall broke down com- 
pletely at the very beginning of his first sermon, and 
covering his face with his hands, cried, " Oh, I have 
lost all my ideas !" and burst into tears. Yet Robert 
Hall became one of the most brilliant pulpit orators 
that the world has ever known. 

The school of adversity has many brilliant gradu- 
ates. Shakespeare was the son of a wool-chandler, and 
wrote his plays, not for fame, but for the remunera- 
tion that they brought him. Ben Jonson was a mason, 



THE BA TTLE OF LIFE. J J 

and is said to have worked with his trowel in the 
erection of Lincoln's Inn. Sir Richard Arkwright 
remained a barber until he was almost thirty years of 
age. Robert Burns was the son of a poor farmer ; 
Benjamin Franklin was a printer ; and Edison, whose 
name is associated with so many of the valuable elec- 
trical appliances of these recent years, began life as a 
newsboy. In the honor roll of this Republic man 
after man has risen from the disadvantages of early 
poverty to the highest positions in the gift of the 
nation. The stories of Jackson and Lincoln and 
Garfield are too well known to bear repetition. 

The career of the younger Disraeli well illustrates 
the manner in which a determined will may win suc- 
cess against the most discouraging circumstances. 
When, as a young man, he made his maiden speech in the 
English House of Commons, he adopted so grandilo- 
quent a style that every sentence was received with 
shouts of laughter. The whole proceeding was de- 
scribed as " more screaming than an Adelphi farce." 
Compelled to take his seat, the young orator could 
not refrain from crying, "I have begun many things 
several times, and I have often succeeded at last ; ay, 
and though I sit down now, the time will come when 
you will hear me ! He labored under peculiar disad- 
vantages. He belonged to that hapless race of Jews, 
which for centuries has been made to feel the spite 
and spleen of Christendom. He lacked the discipline 
and prestige which pertain to a university training, 
and was without aristocratic connections. And yet, 
notwithstanding the set-back of that humiliating failure, 



7 8 BE A TEN PA THS. 

against prejudice, exclusiveness, and derision, he stead- 
ily won his way, till he became at last the personal friend 
of his Queen, and a leader in the literature, politics, 
and society of what has, not without reason, been called, 
"the most conservative country in Europe." 

You can always forecast the future of a young man 
by his disposition and ability to overcome circum- 
stances. If he dreads trouble, if he shirks hard work, 
if he is continually stipulating for the least amount of 
labor and the greatest amount of remuneration, if he 
seeks the easiest, softest places in life, and looks for 
success to " turn up " through some favorable freak of 
fortune, he is almost sure to be a nobody as long 
as he lives. But where a young fellow takes hold 
of his work, resolved not to spare himself, but to win 
an honorable place against all costs and obstacles, 
that young man is going up, and no power on earth 
can keep him down. 

There is not any business in the world, from that of 
street scavenger to that of prime minister, that has 
not its difficulties and disadvantages. But few indeed 
are the obstacles that will not yield to the man who 
confronts them fearlessly and resolutely. If there were 
no dangers, where would the heroes be ? And if there 
were no difficulties to be overcome by him who would be 
successful, where would you find the apparatus for win- 
nowing out the nobler souls from those less deserv- 
ing of attention ? 

Hence, if I had to designate that one power which, 
more than anything else, gives a guarantee of success, 
I would say that it is the power of overcoming difficul- 



THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 



79 



ties. Men of intellect and talent may fail, but he who 
has learned to meet and master difficulties is on the 
high-road to success. Fowell Buxton, who had a per- 
sonal knowledge of what it meant to struggle, to per- 
severe, and to triumph at last, declares : " The longer 
I live, the more I am certain that the great difference 
between men, between the feeble and the powerful, the 
great and the insignificant, is energy, invincible deter- 
mination, a purpose once fixed, and then death or vic- 
tory. That quality will do anything in this world ; 
and no talents, no circumstances, no opportunities will 
make a two-legged creature a man without it." 

One child rules in the nursery, not because he is 
physically the strongest, nor because he is intellect- 
ually the brightest, but because he is resolved. One 
man says " Go !" and everybody flies to do his 
bidding ; while another says " Go-o-o !" and they 
laugh at him. There are positive men, who are as 
firm as a rock and as forcible as a thunder-bolt ; and 
there are negative men, who have no more force than 
a zephyr and no more stamina than dough. The dif- 
ference lies in the will. Erasmus said, " I will not be 
unfaithful to the cause of Christ — at least so far as the 
age will permit me !" The teeth of circumstance snap 
clear through such creatures, as if they were nothing 
more than thin bread and butter. 

Leaders of men are always conspicuous for their 
power of resolve. They are characterized by that 
positive and unbending resolution which makes it so 
much easier for the average man to fall in behind 
them than to antagonize them. You see this in Napo- 



80 BE A TEN PA THS. 

leon, the imperious, and still more in that conqueror 
of Napoleon, who, from the patient and resistless 
strength of his resolution, has been termed the " Iron 
Duke." You see it cropping out in Knox and Wesley, 
who, though not exceptionally remarkable in intellec- 
tual power, were nevertheless leaders in mighty relig- 
ious movements. It comes out strongly in Columbus, 
who "importuned in turn the States of Genoa, Portu- 
gal, Venice, France, England, and Spain before he 
could get control of three small vessels and one hun- 
dred and twenty men." And so marked was this ele- 
ment in the character of William of Orange that Mot- 
ley says, "The rock in the ocean, tranquil amid rag- 
ing billows, was the favorite emblem by which his 
friends expressed their sense of his firmness." 

But, perhaps, as the noblest, the most conspicuous, 
the classic example of will-power, there should go 
down to history that thrilling picture of Martin 
Luther making his way to the Imperial Diet at 
Worms, and confronting the greatest powers of his 
age for the sake of what he believed to be the truth. 
When advised that the fate of Huss might be his, 
should he persevere in his journey, he replied, "Huss 
has been burned, but not the truth with him. I will 
go to Worms, though there were as many devils there 
as there are tiles on the roofs ! " Oh, if there is any 
event of which these modern centuries may well feel 
proud, if there is any event that should lift the soul 
into the highest with its revelation of heroic strength, 
it is surely this picture of the lonely monk standing 
face to face with the power, the pageantry, and the 



THE BA TTL E OF L 1FE. 8 I 

prejudice of the world and of the church, as bodied 
forth in that imposing assembly, and declaring as his 
final answer to the question whether he would recant: 
"Unless convinced by the testimony of Scripture or 
by the clearest reasoning, I cannot and I will not re- 
tract. Here I stand. I can do naught else. God 
help me. Amen." Friend, hang this picture up in the 
most sacred cloister of the mind ; and should ever the 
feeling come upon you, that the human soul is too 
weak to cope with the powers of the world, stand be- 
fore it, and worship, and grow strong ! 

The mightiest power under heaven is that of a 
human will thoroughly decided and resolved. Cir- 
cumstances yield to it as the water yields to the 
weight of the giant Cunarder. Society, with instinc- 
tive prudence, makes way for it to accomplish its pur- 
pose. And even death itself has been known to pause 
for a time at its injunction. When Douglas Jerrold 
was told that he must die, he exclaimed, " What ! And 
leave a family of helpless children ! I will not die !" 
And he kept his word. In the human constitution it 
is the will that holds the sceptre of imperial sover- 
eignty. The body is its obedient slave. It com- 
mands, and the mind straightway becomes alert, 
active, and concentrated. Through it the spectres of 
the imagination are laid ; and by its aid happiness 
may be wrung from the most barren soil of earthly 
conditions. When it cries, " Get thee behind me, 
Satan!" temptation slinks away into the darkness, 
and the angels of God in gracious ministry fill the 
wilderness with song. 



8 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

" O well for him whose will is strong ! 
He suffers, but he will not suffer long ; 
He suffers, but he cannot suffer wrong : 
For him nor moves the loud world's random mock, 
Nor all Calamity's hugest waves confound, 
Who seems a promontory of rock, 
That, compass' d round with turbulent sound, 
In middle ocean meets the surging shock, 
Tempest-buffeted, citadel-crown'd. " 

Your life, then, is sure to be a battle more or less 
prolonged, unless you begin by playing the coward's 
part, and permit it to take on, all the way through, the 
character of an ignominious defeat. For when high 
Heaven has endowed you with this superb power of 
will, defeat could be nothing else than ignominious. 
The noblest kind of success, the choicest culture, the 
sweetest joys, the most gracious type of character and 
influence may all be yours, if you will. Why should 
you be content to lead a life low and ignoble, when 
you might be living the highest life that is open to a 
rational being? When you have it in your power to 
win the grandest prizes that this world can offer, why 
should you be content with anything less ? I would 
have you set your affections on the very highest things, 
and determine with all the force of your manhood or 
womanhood that you will either have these things, or 
go down in the attempt. I would have you form at 
once the strong and firm resolve that you will not per- 
mit yourself to live as a child of circumstances, but 
that, with all the power the Creator has given you, 
you will make circumstances bend to the attainment 
of this imperial purpose. I would have you learn, not 



THE BA TTLE OF LIFE. 83 

by rote simply, that you may repeat them, but by 
heart, that you may live them, the noble stanzas of 
that poet whose words I have quoted twice already, 
our own cultured and immortal Longfellow, who has 
sung with an energy and enthusiasm quite unequalled 
by any similar composition in our English speech the 
Battle-Hymn of Life : 

" Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 
' Life is but an empty dream ! ' 
For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
And things are not what they seem. 

Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 
And the grave is not its goal ; 
* Dust thou art, to dust returnest,' 
Was not spoken of the soul. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 

Is our destined end or way : 
But to act, that each to-morrow 

Find us farther than to-day. 

Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 

And our hearts, though stout and brave, 

Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave. 

In the world's broad field of battle, 

In the bivouac of Life, 
Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! 

Be a hero in the strife ! 

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! 

Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 
Act, — act in the living Present! 

Heart within, and God o'erhead! 



84 KEA TEN PA THS. 

Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime, 

And, departing, leave behind us 
Footprints on the sands of time; 

Footprints, that perhaps another, 
Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
Seeing, shall take heart again. 

Let us, then, be up and doing, 
With a heart for any fate, 

Still achieving, still pursuing, 
Learn to labor and to wait.'* 




HEALTH, 



IV 



HEALTH. 

" The stream of life flows through the biliary duct. When that is 
obstructed, life is obstructed. When the golden tide sets back upon the 
liver, it is like backwater under a mill; it stops the driving wheel. Bile 
spoils the peace of families, breaks off friendships, cuts off man from 
communication with his Maker, colors whole systems of theology, trans- 
forms brains into putty, and destroys the comfort of a jaundiced world." 

— /. G. Holland. 

"Let the young man, then, remember, that for every offense which 
he commits against the laws of health, nature will bring him into judg- 
ment. However graciously God may deal with the heart, all our exper- 
ience proves that He never pardons stomach, muscles, lungs, or brain." 

— Horace Mann. 




HERE are only two ways in 
which a man can learn the advan- 
tages of health — by reasoning 
the matter out with himself, or 
by experiencing a period of 
sickness. You may always have 
your choice. If you will not 
give your mind to the subject, nature will, sooner 
or later, teach you through your body. Like charity, 
she " suffers long and is kind ; " but she is neverthe- 
less a schoolmistress of the ancient sort, and will 

make you learn your lesson with aches and pains, if 

6 



88 BE A TEN PA THS. 

she perceive that you are not disposed to master it 
through moral suasion. Should you attempt to live as if 
you were a disembodied spirit, freed from all interest in 
things.material, and from all responsibility to the laws 
that govern your physical system, nature will clip 
your wings for you, bring you down to facts, and 
make you realize that man is not an immortal spirit, 
pure and simple, but an immortal spirit enveloped in 
flesh. 

We cannot too early become convinced of the wis- 
dom of that ancient proverb which speaks of the de- 
sirability of " a sound mind in a sound body." Let 
the choicest wine be poured out at the altars of 
Hygeia, for among all temporal blessings there is 
none to compare with that which she imparts. For 
thought, for happiness, for virtue, for work and useful- 
ness, — for the sake of everything that is included in 
our idea of success, what is more desirable than 
health? Look over the lists of the great; look at 
the men who hold prominent positions to-day, in the 
senate, on 'change, at the bar, and in the pulpit, and 
you will see that the preponderating majority have 
strong constitutions and well developed bodies. 
Those who are noted for generalship, for fertile 
thought, for inventive genius, for executive ability, are, 
in nine cases out of ten, sound in nerves and heart 
and lungs. 

Napoleon declared that the first requisite of good 
generalship is good health. Cicero, becoming a vic- 
tim of dyspepsia, hastened to Greece, and submitted 
for two years to the severe regimen of the gymna- 



HEALTH. 89 

sium ; after which he was able to return to public life, 
strong and well, and with renewed hopes and pros- 
pects. Isaac Barrow, when a boy, was noted for his 
pugilistic propensities ; and Adam Clarke was remark- 
able for the prowess he displayed in "rolling large stones 
about." Washington had such prodigious physical 
strength that he was able to lift into position a massive 
stone which the united efforts of three workmen had not 
sufficed to move into its proper place. John Wesley 
wrote on his eighty -first birthday, " To-day I entered on 
my eighty-second year, and found myself just as strong 
to labor, and as fit for exercise in body and mind, as 
I was forty years ago." Burns and Byron were both 
endowed with magnificent constitutions, which they 
wore out by protracted dissipation. Goethe preserved 
his splendid physical development to the very last. 
Sir Walter Scott would ride for hours together over 
the moors, and broke down his health at length only 
by herculean exertions. Charles Dickens could walk 
for miles through the streets of London, peering into 
the faces of his fellow pedestrians, that he might de- 
rive from them suggestions for his literary work. 
Lord Brougham had such a constitution that, it is re- 
ported, he once worked for six days and nights at a 
stretch, without a wink of sleep ; after which he ran 
down to his country house, slept through from Satur- 
day night to Monday morning, and returned again to 
his labors as vigorous as before. Palmerston was 
noted in his youth for his proficiency in athletic sports, 
and maintained his love of physical exercises to the 
last. Being asked when he considered a man to be in 



90 BE A TEN PA THS. 

the prime of life, he replied, " At seventy-nine. But," 
added he, "as I have just entered my eightieth year, 
perhaps I am myself a little past it." 

Not long since, three giants stood abreast in the 
American pulpit: Henry Ward Beecher, short, thick- 
set, corpulent, stout as an oak to all appearances, 
notwithstanding the terrific wear and tear of a long 
and stormy life ; T. De Witt Talmage, tough, fibrous, 
muscular, doing the work of three ordinary men as 
preacher, writer, and lecturer, and discharging it all 
with ease ; and Phillips Brooks, of Boston, as com- 
manding in his six feet four of physical stature as in 
the breadth and beauty of his spiritual utterances. 
And at the same time, across the sea, the fate of 
Europe seemed to turn on the movements of Bismarck 
and Gladstone — the one, that deep chested veteran 
whose colossal labors had given to Germany the first 
place among continental nations — the other, a "grand 
old man " of almost eighty, who from time to time 
could forsake the joy of felling trees at Hawarden, to 
lead on to new victories the cause of British reform. 
But when one begins to cite examples of the impor- 
tance of physical health and strength to the attain- 
ment of success, it is difficult to know where to stop, 
since illustrations are to be found on every page of 
history. 

Your reading, however, may have put you in pos- 
session of a number of facts that seem to point in the 
opposite direction. Some of the greatest men of the 
world have been noted for anything but a good 
physique. Paul had his thorn in the flesh, and Pascal 



HEALTH. 91 

was a confirmed invalid. Keats was feeble from birth, 
and Pope was accustomed to speak of his life as "a 
long disease." Milton wore his eyes out before the 
age of fifty, and Johnson was all his life long troubled 
with a scrofulous affection and haunted by the fear 
of insanity. William of Orange was weak and sickly 
from childhood, and was compelled to fight his way 
from the very beginning through the force of his in- 
domitable will. Nelson, Napoleon, and Aristotle were 
almost dwarfs in stature. Carlyle endured the hor- 
rors of dyspepsia ; and Rufus Choate, when reproached 
for jeopardizing his constitution, retorted, "My dear 
fellow, my constitution was all gone years ago, and I 
am now living on the by-laws ! " 

In reply this may be urged : that many of the in- 
dividuals in question started out with strong constitu- 
tions, and ruined their health eventually through 
carelessness, anxiety, or exhausting application. 
With others success has been owing to an exceedingly 
fine and sensitive organization, such as is easily put 
out of adjustment. And in other cases a fair measure 
of health has been enjoyed, though the element of 
muscular strength has not been conspicuous. At 
most such cases are only exceptions to the general 
rule ; and where a man has been able to accomplish 
much with a frail and rickety constitution, there is no 
saying how much more he might have done if the 
physical organization had been capable of intense and 
protracted effort. In searching for laws we cannot afford 
to confine ourselves to the apparent or real exceptions. 
Exceptions are held to prove the rule ; if there were 



9 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

no rule, how could they be exceptions? The rule is, 
that good health is a prime condition of success ; and 
this is so well understood and so universally conceded, 
that it seems almost needless to spend time and 
labor in insisting upon it. Much as may be said about 
the achievements of weaklings, there is not one man 
in a million who would recommend you to seek suc- 
cess through breaking down your constitution or cul- 
tivating a feeble habit of body. The importance of 
health is so generally recognized that the first ques- 
tion we always ask another is, How do you do ? 
Everybody knows that the vigor of mind and the 
power of concentrated and continuous toil, without 
which success is never likely to be won, are generally 
associated with vigor of body. Put it down, then, as 
a settled principle that, other things being equal, the 
healthier you are, the more likely will you be to reach 
the goal of your ambition. 

So far as the labor of life is concerned, you may 
regard yourself as an ingenious and complicated 
machine, bound to turn off so much work of a certain 
quality under certain conditions. Any defect in the 
machine, or in the energy that keeps it running, will 
manifest itself at last in the inferiority and meagre- 
ness of the manufactured products. There are days 
when the whole being seems elate and energetic, days 
when in a few short hours we discharge work that at 
other seasons would consume the greater part of a 
week. Now, there cannot be any doubt that the exhil- 
aration and energy which we experience at such per- 
iods are induced by physical conditions ; and it should 



HEALTH. 93 

be our study to ascertain the nature of these condi- 
tions, and the means by which they can be rendered 
permanent. How to keep the working machinery in 
the best possible order, how to accumulate the largest 
amount of energy, and how to expend it with the 
least possible waste, are questions of the most vital 
importance. The problem of health in this stirring 
age is not simply how to live and work, but how 
to work at the highest possible pressure with the least 
possible danger of breaking down. 

Health and happiness are boon companions. " When 
a man destroys his health," says Horace Mann, "he 
destroys, so far as he is concerned, whatever of sweet- 
ness, of flavor, and of savor, the teeming earth can 
produce. To him who has poisoned his appetite by 
excesses, the luscious pulp of grape or peach, the nec- 
tareous juices of orange or pineapple, are but a loath- 
ing and a nausea. He has turned gardens and groves 
of delicious fruit into gardens and groves of ipecac 
and aloes." 

Ill health is at the bottom of most of the morbid 
and unwholesome views of life that are disseminated 
to-day. When you hear an individual discoursing on 
the hard and stony path of life, it signifies that he has 
rheumatism or gout, either of which is sufficient to 
make the smoothest road seem full of obstructions. 
When men tell you that the sweetest cup of earthly 
pleasure becomes bitter in the drinking, it indicates 
indigestion ; and when they assert that the world is 
getting worse and worse, it is simply a sign of old age 
and senile decay. Those whose vitality is on the ebb 



94 BE A TEN PA THS. 

are apt to speak of the rising generation as a band 
of young reprobates. 

But to him who is really healthy, existence itself 
becomes a positive luxury. The physical machinery 
works on with normal regularity ; and normal action 
anywhere — whether in body, mind, or morals — 
always brings pleasure. The man of health will 
expose himself to unnumbered dangers, put forth pro- 
digious exertions, surmount obstacles, withstand 
fatigue, endure hardship and privation, and assert all 
the time that this earth is a very Paradise. Like the 
bee, he can gather honey even from thorns and this- 
tles. The things that work decay and death to 
others, are made to do him service. The sun does not 
smite him by day, nor the moon by night. The east 
wind becomes bracing to him ; and the presence of 
danger exhilarates like a draught of choicest wine. He 
sups at kings' tables and sleeps in a bower more 
sweet and peaceful than ever palace of monarch con- 
tained : for hunger turns the homeliest fare into a 
royal banquet ; and after a day of work, night, like a 
genial mother, folds the toiler to her breast in dream- 
less sleep. The value of health is above that of 
rubies. The treasures of the millionaire can never 
buy back those fresh and precious experiences of liv- 
ing which fled from him with the vigorous days of 
youth. The fool, according to the Bible, is the man 
who sells his soul for temporal benefits ; according to 
physical science, he is the man who sells his health at 
a similar ruinous price. 

It is a significant fact that healthiness and holiness 



HEALTH. 95 

come from the same old Saxon root. Our personal 
character stands in most intimate relations with our 
physical condition. The state of the soul depends 
upon the state of the body. When Dr. J. W. Alexan- 
der was asked whether he enjoyed the full assurance 
of faith, he replied, " Yes, I think I do — except when 
the wind is from the east." The physical derange- 
ment wrought by the east wind seemed to interfere 
with the religious consciousness. Dr. Johnson said, 
" Every man is a rascal, when he is sick ; " and Han- 
nah More averred that there are only two bad things 
in this world — " sin and bile." The healthier you are, 
the better you will be, other things being equal. 
Good health and good morals have a natural affinity 
for one another, and you can hardly cultivate the 
friendship of the one without at the same time winning 
that of the other. 

For confirmation of this statement, look at the 
phenomena of the social world. Bad morals do not, 
as a rule, flourish amid healthful surroundings. In the 
process of its development vice goes down to the 
slums, where fever breeds and the pestilence finds vic- 
tims by the score. There, in cellars dank and dark, 
where a whiff of pure air seldom finds its way, and 
where the sun is never suffered to work its subtle 
chemistry of cleansing, sin finds its final and most con- 
genial home. The improvement of the tenement 
houses is usually attended by an improvement in pub- 
lic morals. 

It was in accordance with this principle that the 
children of Israel were trained. He who strove to 



9 6 BE A TEN PA THS. 

make Israel holy sought first to make them healthy. 
The primary step in their moral and religious devel- 
opment consisted in placing them under the best of 
sanitary conditions. The Mosaic legislation is largely 
concerned with matters of public and private health. 
The laws of physical well-being are enunciated with 
all the sanctions of Sinai. Incidentally, it is worth 
while noticing how perfect the Mosaic legislation is on 
these matters ; how that little nation of Jews has been 
preserved in the midst of famine, plague, and persecu- 
tion ; and how its members have been conspicuously 
free from crime, and conspicuously successful in the 
ordinary affairs of life. 

The virtues follow in the train of health. Cheerful- 
ness is inseparable from it, and charity, kindness, and 
patience are its constant associates. It easily resists 
temptation, meets its foes with a dauntless courage, 
and holds itself ready to do and dare all things in be- 
half of every high and cherished ambition. The 
Duke of Wellington was not far astray when, looking 
at the sports of the school-boys at Eton, he declared 
that but for these health-giving exercises, the battle of 
Waterloo would never have been won. Where you 
find one who is crabbed, mean, cowardly, passionate, 
jealous, unforgiving, it usually transpires that he is 
more or less of an invalid. 

This view, that health is an invaluable assistant of 
morals and religion, belongs distinctively to the mod- 
ern world. Pascal held the strange doctrine that 
" disease is the natural state of Christians." And our 
forefathers seem to have entertained a similar opin- 



HEALTH. .97 

ion. For whenever they found a young man more 
sickly than his fellows, lean, lank, cadaverous, dyspep- 
tic, they were accustomed to lay violent hands of con- 
secration upon him and make him a minister. And 
he would straightway array himself in black, and give 
it back to them in the way of theological discourses 
that made the hair stand on end and the blood freeze 
in the veins. Now, however, we are living under a 
revival of muscular Christianity, and the tone of the 
pulpit has decidedly changed for the better. There is 
no prejudice to be set aside to-day, before proclaim- 
ing that the ideal man is a normal man throughout — 
one whose health, morals, intelligence, and religion 
have all been restored to the old harmony and vigor 
of Eden. 

After saying so much in favor of health, I may 
venture to give a few commonplace directions for 
keeping oneself in the best physical condition. These 
rules have no claim to professional wisdom, but 
simply express those general principles whose truth 
is everywhere recognized. There are seven things 
upon which the preservation of the health depends: 
cleanliness, food, air, light, sleep, exercise and recre- 
ation. 

i. Cleanliness. — If you were to purchase a bicycle 
or a type-writer, you would find among the other in- 
structions this caution, that the machine must be kept 
scrupulously clean in order to do perfect work. Nor 
can the human machine work well except when this 
condition of perfect cleanliness is observed. There 
are in all some two and a half millions of small holes, 



98 BE A TEN PA THS. 

or pores, on the surface of the human body, each pore 
being the opening of a little sewer through which the 
waste of the system is continually washed out 
in the form of perspiration. When we are at rest, 
this perspiration passes off insensibly as vapor ; and 
in a healthy individual as much as a pint and a half of 
water will be thrown out of the system in this way with- 
in the space of twenty-four hours. But when we are 
exercising, the perspiration becomes sensible, and as 
much as five or six pints may be dispelled in the 
course of a day. Now, it is very easy for these 
minute pores to become choked up, in which case the 
health is apt to become seriously affected. Bathing 
and friction are the only means by which they can be 
kept open. Where one is in anything like vigorous 
health, some kind of a bath once a day is none too 
much for cleanliness. One prefers a sponge-bath 
with cold water, accompanied by vigorous rubbing ; 
another finds that cold water gives too much of a 
shock, and takes it luke-warm. The bath ought 
always to bring the blood to the surface, producing 
warmth and glow. Where it does this, the beneficial 
effect of it is felt at once, and the whole system seems 
to be invigorated. 

It was not without good reason that our fathers de- 
clared, " Cleanliness is next to godliness." There are 
many sins in society that go only skin-deep, and that 
might consequently be eliminated altogether by a 
cleansing of the cuticle. Of the moral advantages of 
the bath, Carlyle speaks as follows : "What worship 
is there not in mere washing? Perhaps one of the 



HEAL TH. 99 

most moral thines a man in common cases has it in 
his power to do. Strip thyself, go into the bath, or 
were it into the limpid pool of a running brook, and 
there wash, and be clean ; thou wilt step out again a 
purer and a better man. The consciousness of per- 
fect outward purity, — that to thy skin there now adheres 
no foreign speck or imperfection, — how it radiates on 
thee with cunning symbolic influences to thy very 
soul ! Thou hast an increased tendency towards all 
good things whatsoever." 

2. Food. — What fuel is to the work of the steam- 
engine, food is to the work of a human being. With- 
out food the machinery of life would have to cease, 
and the finished products of mental and physical 
action would no longer . appear. One need not be a 
materialist in order to assert that, so far as this mat- 
ter of food is concerned, man is simply a machine by 
which meat and potatoes may be turned into love- 
sonnets and prayers and political speeches. Every 
thought and feeling of the soul is, in part, the off- 
spring of brain-tissue ; and the relation between 
brain and stomach is as close as that which subsists be- 
tween brain and thought. You can almost tell the 
nature of a man's diet by the flavor of his thought. 
Byron's lucubrations smell of gin ; Wordsworth's are 
at times redolent of thin bread and butter ; and once 
in a while, even to-day, you will hear a sermon that, 
beyond all question, has been wrought up out of the 
leaves of the tobacco plant. When the elder Kean 
was playing on the stage, he adapted his diet to his 
part : " Pork for tyrants ; beef for murderers ; and 



I OO BE A TEN PA THS. 

boiled mutton for lovers ! " For this latter part some 
soft and sheepish food seemed to be requisite. 

Food is the fuel that is consumed in the manufac- 
turing processes of life ; and the amount and kind of 
food to be used, is to be determined by the tastes and 
needs of each individual. Bismarck says, " If you 
want to get work out of me, you must feed me." 
You might as well expect to drive a locomotive with 
dead leaves as expect the human machine to work 
well on a diet of gruel and potatoes. You need good 
strengthening food, properly cooked, masticated, and 
digested, in order to turn out work of the best quality. 

The trouble with us Americans is that we eat too 
rapidly. We do not masticate our food. We try to 
impose on the stomach work that should be done by 
the teeth. As a consequence, we are in danger of be- 
coming a nation of dyspeptics ; and what pen is sharp 
enough, what ink is black enough to portray the hor- 
rors of such a fate ! In respect of eating and drinking, 
the British are much wiser than we. A great part of 
Mr. Gladstone's good health is attributed to his leis- 
urely method of dining ; he is even said to chew every 
mouthful of meat twenty-five times before swallowing 
it. Nothing short of a foreign invasion would induce 
an Englishman to slight his dinner. 

3. Air. — Open the dampers of your furnace, and 
the fresh air will rush through with a roar, and the 
fire will burn bright and fierce. Air is to you just 
what it is to your furnace : you need plenty of it, and 
it must be pure. If you were to send thoroughly foul 
air through the furnace, it would put out the fire ; it 



HEALTH. IOI 

has a similar effect upon the fires of life when it is 
taken into the lungs. You remember the story of 
the Black Hole, at Calcutta. Into this apartment, 
twenty feet square, with only two small windows, one 
hundred and forty-six persons were crowded, and re- 
mained over night ; in the morning only twenty-three 
were found surviving, the rest having perished for 
want of air. There are Black Holes on a small scale 
in many a home in this land — places where life is 
diminished or extinguished utterly for want of pure 
air. Learn to open the windows and doors of your 
dwellings ; throw back the shoulders ; expand the 
lungs ; walk out under the open sky. When you are 
weary and tired, nature leads you to sigh. That is 
her way of filling the lungs with air, and restoring the 
jaded spirits. 

Breathe through the nose rather than through the 
mouth. In the old primer of our school-days, we 
used to read, "What is the nose for? To smell with." 
And thus the facts of physiology became perverted in 
the unquestioning mind of the child. For the nose is 
useful principally as the organ by which air is con- 
veyed to the lungs. It is given that we may breathe 
through it ; and its smelling function is quite subordi- 
nate and incidental. Its passages are so arranged as 
to sift the atmosphere of impurities and warm it be- 
fore it reaches the more delicate structures within. 
Mouth-breathers are almost sure to suffer from throat 
troubles. 

4. Light. — The Italians have a proverb, " Where 
the sun does not come, the doctor does." You need 



1 02 BE A TEN PA THS. 

sunlight almost as much as air. See how prone vege- 
tation is to die out on the north side of the house. 
Try the plan of keeping a plant in a dark cellar, and 
you will notice that it becomes pale and sickly under 
the treatment. Catch a little tadpole and confine him 
in such a place, and he will never develop into a frog. 
Take a singing bird away from the light, and at once 
it is stricken mute. See how the dog loves to stretch 
himself in the sun, and thus drink in energy direct 
from the central fount of physical life. There is cheer 
in the sun. Its light and warmth are just as necessary 
to you as to beast and bird and plant. In the deep 
mountain valleys of the Alps, where the sunlight pen- 
etrates with difficulty, the inhabitants are frequently 
afflicted with a species of idiocy, accompanied by 
enormous swellings on the neck, known as goitre. If 
you desire an illustration nearer home, just walk for 
an hour or two through some of the dark alleys of 
our great cities, and notice how common is the sight 
of sickly and deformed children. A physician in New 
York reports that during an epidemic of diphtheria in 
that city, the cases on the shady side of the street 
outnumbered those on the sunny side five to one. 
Our grandmothers took great care to exclude the 
sunlight from their dwellings, on the ground that it 
faded the carpets. In such cases the carpets were 
preserved, but the health of the household was sac- 
rificed. 

5. Sleep. — The importance of sleep is to be 
emphasized because of that great ,drain upon the 
nervous energies which is made by our modern life. 



HEALTH. 103 

Menander, the Greek poet, more than three centuries 
before Christ, declared, "Sleep is the natural cure of 
all diseases." The poet Young calls it, " Tired 
nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep ;" and Shakespeare 
speaks of "Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of 
care." The life that is frayed and worn by the cares 
and labors of the day is thus supposed to be knitted up 
and repaired at night by sleep. Our most recent science 
and experience are all confirmatory'of what has been 
written by the poets. Henry Ward Beecher, whose 
capacity for mental work was almost unlimited, took 
from eight to nine hours of sleep regularly. General 
Grant declared that during his campaigns he could do 
nothing without nine hours' sleep. James T. Fields, 
the author and publisher, was so impressed with the 
value of sleep that he declared, " Late hours are 
shadows from the grave." And Gladstone says, " In 
all my political life, I have never been kept awake five 
minutes by any debate in parliament." He alludes, of 
course, to the period after the House had risen, when 
somnolence could not be construed into a slur upon 
the speakers. 

There have been men who could survive and do 
work on less sleep than this. Alexander von Hum- 
boldt, happy man, was satisfied with four hours. 
Napoleon, apparently, could get along very well on a 
similar amount, though at times he made up for pre- 
vious losses by sleeping twenty -four hours at a stretch. 
John Wesley took six hours, but. in his later years he 
was prone to nod off at any moment. The Duke of 
Wellington declared, " When it is time to turn over, 

7 



1 04 BE A TEN PA THS. 

it is time to turn out." But the Duke himself is 
known to have snatched a few moments for sleep on 
the field of battle, while a subordinate officer was de- 
tailed to watch the manoeuvring of the enemy. 

In general, it is safe to trust nature. Sleep just as 
long as you can ; make a real business of it while you 
are at it ; and then, after you have had enough and 
can sleep no longer, turn out and get to work. The 
best time to sleep is at night. The best place to sleep 
is in bed, though the habit of some indicates a prefer- 
ence for ecclesiastical surroundings. " Now blessings 
on him that first invented sleep," cries Sancho 
Panza. " It covers a man all over, thoughts and all, 
like a cloak ; it is meat for the hungry, drink for the 
thirsty, heat for the cold, and cold for the hot." Sleep 
is the most abundant fountain of vitality from which 
you can drink. When you lie down to rest, you give 
yourself back into the hands of God to be remade 
and reinvigorated. 

6. Exercise. — Just as it is better to use a house 
than to leave it without a tenant ; just as machinery 
that lies idle is destroyed far more rapidly than when 
allowed to go on doing its normal work ; so the phys- 
ical system quickly degenerates when debarred from 
regular exercise. See what nature's indications are in 
this respect. As a general rule, the higher up you go 
in the scale of being, the more vim and animation 
you discover. I do not know that clams and molluscs 
ever go through any. great degree of physical exer- 
tion ; but look at the lambs, the calves, the colts ! 
See how a baby jumps, how a child plays, how every 



HEALTH. IO5 

creature that God has made busies itself muscularly 
when left to its own pursuits, with the result of keeping 
in perfect health. 

There is not the slightest question but that the man 
who is active physically stands the best chance of 
preserving his vitality. The lungs work more vigor- 
ously during such exercise, the blood becomes better 
aerated, the waste of the system is more easily elimi- 
nated, the appetite is improved, digestion is facilitated, 
and sleep is made sweeter and more restful. Exer- 
cise has an almost magical power in ministering to 
health. 

If, therefore, your business does not call the mus- 
cles of the body into play, you will have to find some 
pastime that does. A course of regular gymnastics 
under a wise teacher is probably the best thing in the 
world for giving symmetrical development to the body 
in its growing period ; but it is only those who get out 
into the open air that experience the very exuber- 
ance of health. Pedestrianism, rowing, cycling, and 
open-air sports in general are capital for toning up 
the system, when they are not carried to excess. Too 
much exercise makes a drain upon the vitality, instead 
of replenishing it. When Rowland Hill was asked 
what physician or apothecary he employed, to be 
always as well as he was, he replied, " My physician has 
always been a horse, and my apothecary an ass ! " 
George Bancroft, after sixty years' experience, de- 
clares that horse-back riding is the best elixir of youth 
that can be found. Leonardo da Vinci took such 
delight in horsemanship that, though frequently re- 



1 06 BE A TEN PA THS. 

duced to poverty, he could never be persuaded to sell 
his horses or dismiss his grooms. The poet Goethe 
was passionately fond of all kinds of physical exer- 
cise, " swimming in the Ilm by moonlight, skating with 
the merry little Weimar court on the Schwansee, riding 
about the country on horseback, and becoming at times 
quite outrageous in the rich exuberance of his energy." 
" Christopher North," when in the Highlands, would 
run for hours bareheaded over the hills, "his long 
yellow hair streaming behind him, stretching out his 
hands, and shouting aloud in the simple exultation of 
life." Horace Smith, who was for many years a con- 
tributor to the sporting papers, was in his youth de- 
clared to be dying from consumption, and was told by 
his physician that he had better close out his business 
and endeavor to lengthen out the remainder of his days 
with dog and gun. He immediately followed this 
advice ; and so charmingly did the prescription work 
that Mr. Smith died many years after at the advanced 
age of eighty. 

The best time for exercising is when you feel like it, 
that is, when the work of digestion is pretty well 
advanced, but not so far advanced as to leave you 
faint and hungry again. When somebody advised 
Sydney Smith to take a walk upon an empty stomach, 
he enquired, " Upon whose ?" And surely that was an 
eminently sensible reply. For if one is bound upon 
doing so insane a thing as walking upon an empty 
stomach, for pity's sake, for health's sake, let him take 
some other man's stomach, rather than his own. 

7. Recreation. — Abernethy declared that the two 



HEALTH. 107 

things most dangerous to human life are " fret and 
stuff." Fretting is a mental habit that works down- 
ward, and brings ultimate disaster to the body physi- 
cal. For this reason you need to escape from time to 
time, from all those cares by which anxiety and 
worry are apt to be induced. All work and no play is 
poor economy. If you would keep the bow strong, 
you must learn to unbend it from time to time. 
Charles Kingsley hints at the secret of his exuberant 
vitality when he says, " Luckily for me, I can stop from 
all work at short notice, and turn head over heels in 
the sight of all creation for a spell." 

Be sure, however, that your recreation answers to 
its name, and really recreates you, or makes you over 
anew. If you come back to your work rasped and 
tired, heavy and dull, the recreation you have taken 
has certainly failed to accomplish its purpose. The 
majority of fashionable amusements squander vitality 
instead of renewing it. An afternoon with old mother 
nature, in the fields, on the roads, by the lake, or be- 
side the quiet stream, will do more for you than a 
whole dozen of evening parties, where impure air, 
exciting games, and artificial conventionalities leave 
the spirits more limp and worn at the end than they 
were at the beginning. 

These are simply general hints upon the best meth- 
ods of preserving the health. You will have to make 
special application of them for yourselves. What is 
good for one, is not necessarily adapted to another. 
Every man should make a special study of his own 
individual case, and vary his course accordingly. And 



1 08 BE A TEN PA THS. 

you will probably find that the work of keeping the 
physical organization in perfect condition is not by 
any means an easy task. There is an old proverb to 
the effect that "everybody is either a fool or a physi- 
cian at forty." By the time you have reached that ma- 
ture age, if you have not learned the laws of your 
physical constitution, and have not trained yourself 
to obey them, there is no question but that your folly 
will be rendered apparent to all. 

The laws of health are God's laws. We may possi- 
bly doubt whether the Bible comes from God and gives 
expression to the Divine will ; but we cannot doubt 
that the laws which are written in the human constitu- 
tion come from Him, and reveal the way in which He 
would have us walk. And we must not overlook the 
fact, that He who always stands before us as our liv- 
ing and true example in the duties and emergencies 
of life, fulfilled in a remarkable manner those condi- 
tions of physical well-being which we have been con- 
sidering. We have but little knowledge of the early 
years that Jesus spent at Nazareth, but we have a very 
full account of the subsequent period of His career ; 
and was ever ministry of man so packed with incident, 
with labor, with privation, as those three years in 
which He journeyed and taught in Galilee and Judaea ? 
We read of the vicissitudes of His unsettled life, and 
of the unceasing drain made upon His sympathies and 
resources, — His hardships, His nightly vigils, His ex- 
posure to the perils of land and sea, His long marches, 
His constant addresses to public assemblies and pri- 
vate individuals, His miraculous cures, His fasting and 



HEALTH. IO9 

tears, — we read of these ; but we find no hint of 
His ever giving way beneath these trials, or of 
His manifesting the slightest sign of physical degen- 
eration. Though the Gospels do not make very 
much of this element, as was not to have been expected 
of them, yet they contain abundant evidence of our 
Lord's powers of vitality and physical endurance. 
And you will find it an exceedingly pleasant and 
profitable experience, to think of Him as the strong 
and healthy man who could endure fatigue and hard- 
ship beyond even the best of us, and to remember that 
in seeking the highest physical development for your- 
self, you are only following in the footsteps of Him 
who stands forever as our example, the one perfect 
man, perfect in word, perfect in deed, perfect in the 
depths of His great mind and heart, and perfect also 
in that matchless physical organization which was the 
constant and faithful servitor of his tireless and de- 
voted spirit. 



V. 



BRAINS. 

" Man is but a reed, the feeblest reed of nature 
ing reed." — Pascal. 



but he is a think- 



' ' Were I so tall to reach the pole, 
Or grasp the ocean with my span 
I must be measur'd by my soul ; 
The mind's the standard of the man." 

— Watts 

" To send an uneducated child into the world is injurious to the rest 
of mankind ; it is little better than to turn out a mad dog or a wild beast 
into the streets." — Paley, 

N this age of the world one can- 
not be an ascetic. Human beings 
do not stand under the slightest 
obligation to pour contumely 
upon those bodies which the great 
Creator has given them. The 
human body is the most interest- 
ing, the most wonderful, the most beautiful thing in 
this material world. But at the same time it is only 
a precious casket holding the priceless jewel. In our 
human nature there is something nobler than the 
body, something whose interests are superior to those 
of the physical man, something that is not only more 
marvellous and interesting to the student, but also 





THOUCHT. 



BRAINS. 1 1 3 

more practically serviceable to the race than this com- 
plex physical organization which presses its claims so 
imperiously upon us. In short, the conviction forces 
itself upon us, that when the wise Creator set about 
building a man, He had the very best of reasons for 
putting brains on top. Hence, in any wise economy 
of life, in any plan that seeks to be true to the facts of 
our nature, body must be servant, and brain must be 
king. 

This truth is almost as old as the hills. Away back 
in the very beginnings of speculation a philosopher 
declared, 

" On earth there is nothing great but Man, 
In Man there is nothing great but Mind." 

As men began to reflect upon their own natures, 
the majesty of that mysterious principle which thinks 
and feels and energizes in so many ways impressed 
itself upon them to such an extent that the bodily 
powers appeared dwarfed and insignificant beside it. 
The intellect is a subtle flame that conquers and 
illumines the world. It forges the fetters by which 
nature is reduced to servitude and made to carry on 
the drudgeries of men. It compasses the strength of 
rushing wind and roaring torrent, and compels them 
to pay tribute. It discovers the gigantic power of 
steam, drags it forth from its place of concealment, 
and " harnesses it down with iron bands." Mind 
makes the sun an artist, and the lightning a lackey. 
Mind wages successful war against the wrath of pesti- 
lence and famine, hurricane and thunderbolt. Mind 



1 1 4 BE A TEN PA THS. 

spans the rivers, pierces the mountains, and turns the 
pathless sea into a highway of commerce. At its com- 
mand, forests disappear, cities rise in the wilderness, 
and the earth stands forth, bright with the shimmering 
gold of the harvest, or dressed in living green and 
gemmed with flowers. The victories of mind over 
matter are everywhere apparent. 

It is the mind alone that can turn nature into an 
oracle. To " the intellectual ear " the Sphinx opens 
her stony lips, and tells a story, thrilling and awful, of 
the beginning of time. For the student alone are the 
curtains of the firmanent thrown back, and to none but 
him do the distant stars disclose their elements. To 
the intelligent vision, nature reveals her laws and her 
Lawgiver. The mind interprets her mystic language, 
discovers the system on which the universe is organ- 
ized, searches out the eternal thought that lies embod- 
ied in things material, and, breaking through the stub- 
born barriers of sense, stands face to face with that 
mysterious Being in whom the world lives and is. 

Thus the intellect, of itself, gives to our human na- 
ture a splendor and grace that distinguish it from 
everything which is of the earth. By the mind rather 
than by the body, man is to be judged and known. 
He alone lives the ideal life who is filled and thrilled 
with the consciousness that he is an immortal intelli- 
gence, and that the universe waits for him to exercise 
the sovereign powers of mind upon it. 

Hence when the Divine Being would send forth one 
who should live the perfect life under the limitations 
of humanity, He gave to the world him who " spake 



BRAINS. I I 5 

as never man spake." Jesus of Nazareth marks the 
the highest point to which the human intellect has 
ever attained. First among the honored ones of time 
He stands, conspicuous as much for the vigor, the orig- 
inality, the breadth and penetration of His mind, as for 
the beauty and holiness of His life. And through all 
generations the thought of Jesus shall endure, not sim- 
ply because the providence of God gives to it an 
exceptional preservation, nor because it is the thought 
of one whose work has specially endeared him to the 
hearts of men, but because it is fitted to endure, be- 
cause it is vital with intelligence because it is as broad 
as the world, because it voices that eternal truth of 
God which was and is to be, time without end. 

I put these things to you, because I would have you 
realize that when you go to the village church on Sun- 
day morning, you are supporting that religion which 
bears the name of the greatest intellectual genius that 
the world has ever known, the religion which bids fair 
to conquer all others on the ground of its superior 
intelligence, the religion which puts a premium upon 
the unseen spiritual element in our nature, and urges 
men with the voice of divine authority to " keep the 
body under." 

The history of the race manifests a continuous 
progress from that which is physical to that which is 
spiritual. It is only what one might expect, that the 
civilization of this century should be so organized as 
to put a premium upon brains. There was a time in 
the development of society when force was supremely 
reverenced and supremely honored, and when simple 



1 1 6 BE A TEN PA THS. 

"brute strength gave a passport to the highest offices, 
and ensured wealth, position, and respect. But that 
day has passed long since. We are living in an age 
that values brains, in an age that uses brains, in an 
age that confers the highest honors on the man who 
thinks. Human life to-day is much more pervaded by 
the intellectual element than it was a couple of gen- 
erations ago. Not only have educational institutions 
and the various instruments of culture come to play a 
more important part than was given to them then, but 
even those interests which men hold in common 
with the lower orders of creation have become 
ennobled. The mind has mingled in common 
concerns to such an extent that they are no longer 
common. 

For example, there is not a man on this continent 
who would be perfectly content to live as his grand- 
father did fifty years ago. Human beings, through all 
these years, have been learning to respect themselves, 
and now demand that they shall be housed, clothed, 
and fed in a manner more befitting their immortal 
dignity. In the matter of house-accomodation, how 
much more exacting we are than were our fathers ! 
The old two-roomed log cabin in which we were born 
is now designated as a hovel ; and we feel no com- 
punctions in transforming it into a stable or into fire- 
wood. We ask for dwellings commodious enough to 
give scope to the higher energies of our being. We 
want books, pictures, pleasant outlooks, rooms for 
reading and for entertaining. We demand that our in- 
tellectual and spiritual interests, as well as the inter- 



BRAINS. 1 1 7 

ests of the body, shall be consulted in this matter, and 
so refuse to be herded together in human stables, as 
if we were nothing better than cattle. The average 
American of to-day is better housed than was the 
nobleman of a former age. 

Housekeeping, also, is fast rising into the dignity of 
a fine art. We are becoming too intellectual, too sen- 
sitive, too refined to gorge ourselves with a mess of fat 
pork and cabbage, and rise from the table satisfied. 
Except among the lowest and most backward classes, 
a meal has ceased to be simply an opportunity for 
glutting the swinish appetite. The meal now repre- 
sents a common interest round which all that is 
noblest and sweetest in the family life rallies and 
organizes. By skillfully compounded dishes, by dainty 
surroundings, by cheerful, brilliant, or witty conversa- 
tion, — in short, by mixing mind with our food, we are 
striving to eliminate, or at least, to render inconspic- 
uous the grosser animal element in eating and 
drinking. 

A similar state of affairs appears when we consider 
the matter of dress. Our grandmothers dressed to 
make their bodies comfortable ; we dress to satisfy 
our minds. We give to the element of beauty an 
emphasis almost sufficient to make the ghosts of our 
defunct ancestors throw up their hands in holy horror. 
We insist upon having fine fabrics, well woven, hand- 
somely colored, admirably fitted to the person, and 
embellished with various adornment. The flounces, 
frills, flowers, laces, and embroidery now worn by a 
single individual, would have been sufficient, a century 



I 1 8 BE A TEN PA THS. 

ago, to exclude a whole village from the sacrament. 

Or to take another line of thought, let me suggest 
to you that machinery, which plays such a conspicuous 
part in our modern life, doing the greater portion 
of the work in our manufacturing industries, and giv- 
ing promise of eventually revolutionizing the labor 
of the farm and of the home, — machinery is only 
another name for mind ; it is brains put into iron and 
steel. Every water-wheel, every locomotive, every 
puff of steam, every cloud of smoke that floats above 
our great manufacturing cities, testifies to the fact 
that this is emphatically the age of brains. 

When the English artist Opie was asked with what 
he mixed his colors, he replied, "With brains, sir." 
Therein lies the real ground of distinction in the labor 
market. One man mixes his colors with oil only, and 
paints signs and houses ; and another mixes them with 
brains, and gives to the world a Madonna or an 
Angelus. One can hew the marble into a square 
block, and another can hew it into the Laocoon. 
One has brains enough to become a brakeman at 
thirty dollars a month, and another has brains enough 
to manage a railway at fifty thousand a year. One 
can become a merchant prince, while another is 
worsted in his efforts to superintend a little corner 
grocery. 

The value of brains is recognized in the product of 
every trade and profession. Here is a vase worth just 
sixty cents ; and there is another of precisely the same 
size, which cannot be purchased short of sixty dollars. 
The difference in the cost between a garment by 



BRAINS. 119 

Worth and one by your village dressmaker depends 
not so much on the grade of the material used as on 
the amount of brains expended in its manufacture. I 
can get a fair cook at twelve dollars a month, but I 
cannot begin to get a chef short of ten times that 
amount. 

When John Wanamaker was questioned as to the 
most useful of his opportunities, he replied, "Think- 
ing;, trying, toiling, trusting in God, is all of mv biog- 
raphy." He gives the first place to thinking. If you 
wish your business to honor you, you must honor it by 
putting your very best thought upon it. The man who 
fertilizes his farm with brains reaps larger crops than 
he who uses nothing but manure. The clerk who 
brings brains as well as industry to the discharge of his 
employer's business, is soon promoted above the man 
who does his work mechanically. Leaders in new in- 
dustries — men who are quick to see the opportunity 
and avail themselves of it — reap great rewards, 
whereas the crowd that follows in their wake has to 
content itself with the gleanings. The merchant who 
is ready at reading human nature, who can foresee 
fluctuations in the market, who can make extended 
plans for the future, and who is all the time studving 

J. J O 

improvements in his business methods, comes to the 
front, while the dull plodder who is wedded to routine 
invariably brings up in the rear. In this race of life, 
brains count for more than strong limbs or sound 
wind. If it is your wish to get on in the world, keep 
your eyes open and your mind a-going. If by any 
means you can acquire quickness of perception, 



I 2 O BE A TEN PA THS. 

breadth of outlook, diligence in searching for infor- 
mation, judgment, taste, comprehension and mastery 
of details, and good mental habits in general, you 
will find that these things have a market value, and 
will bring you, year by year, a return in dollars and 
cents. The thinker has a hundred chances of success 
where the dolt has but one. 

There is no good reason why the value of brains 
should not once in a while be estimated by the money- 
standard. For this standard is a serviceable one, a 
comparatively just one, and one that is easily applied. 
But at the same time one should remember that it is the 
lowest and most imperfect standard that can possibly 
be employed in determining the worth of spiritual 
entities. To estimate the value of intelligence by the 
amount of money it will bring, is like estimating the 
value of a bronze statue by the number of the coins 
into which it might be cast. Intelligence, like beauty, 
has a value of its own. It is desirable in itself, and 
not merely as a means toward the accumulation of a 
fortune. It brings its own enrichment and reward to 
the life of the individual and of the race. 

Brains are beginning to play just as prominent a 
part in the social world as in the affairs of business. 
The kind-hearted gentleman and the good-natured 
boor differ only in this respect, that, while both are 
willing to communicate happiness to their fellows, one 
has those delicate perceptions, fine sensibilities, and 
polished tastes, which fit him for the higher ministry, 
while the other has them not. The development of 
our social life is such as to give increasing prominence 



BRAINS. 121 

to the men of mind. There was a time when the 
11 starveling poet " was either excluded from, or barely 
tolerated in, the company of the millionaires and 
aristocrats ; but to-day it makes the success of almost 
any social gathering, to have some literary lion pres- 
ent, who will condescend to roar a little for the edifi- 
cation of the assembled guests. The man who could 
simply drink, and dance, and pay a few amorous com- 
pliments to the ladies, has been left behind in the 
march of civilization ; and to-day the young exquisite, 
whose claim to social regard rests on nothing save his 
faithful following of the fashion-plates and his affected 
manners, has become a butt for the jests of the comic 
papers, and is being hounded from society by that 
most contemptuous monosyllable which American in- 
genuity has ever devised — that is to say, he who a gen- 
eration ago might have passed for a gentleman, is to- 
day held up to the laughter of an intelligent world 
under the title of " the brainless dude." 

It is in the sphere of morals and religion, however, 
that the mind receives its highest employment, and 
manifests its greatest utility. For just as the mental 
life rests on a physical basis, and is enfeebled or deter- 
iorated by unhealthy conditions of the body, so the 
moral and religious life rests on a basis of intelligence, 
and never attains its noblest development where the 
intellectual powers are torpid and inactive. Intelligence 
is as necessary in wandering through the ethical and 
religious domain as eyes are in wandering through the 
physical world. 

At the beginning of our endeavors to live the 

8 



I 2 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

moral and spiritual life we find ourselves possessed 
of a number of opinions which have come to us with- 
out any effort of our own, opinions which have grown 
in the mind, just as the germs of vegetation, wafted 
by vagrant winds, find a lodgment and mature in the 
uncultivated garden. These early opinions are noth- 
ing but prejudices ; for a prejudice is simply a pre- 
judgment, a judgment formed before all the facts have 
been examined and the weight of evidence honestly 
and carefully determined. Some of these prejudices 
are purely personal and peculiar to ourselves ; others 
are social, having been derived from the society in 
which our lot has been cast ; others, again, are national 
or sectarian. Prejudices of one sort or another are 
the invariable characteristic of the untrained and un- 
cultured mind. 

In morals and religion, therefore, one of the first 
things to be done, consists in supplanting these preju- 
dices by carefully matured opinions. If I am to walk 
in the light, I must have eyes that see. If I am to live 
by the truth, I must know the truth for myself. The 
highest morality is an intelligent morality, a morality 
that understands itself, a morality that establishes itself 
on universal and incontrovertible principles, a moral- 
ity that is able to sweep aside the veil of the future 
and discern the far-off consequences of present deeds. 
Although I am gifted with a conscience which prompts 
me to do always that which is right, yet conscience is 
as blind as love, until the intellect supplies it with 
eyes. Conscience gives no encouragement to mental 
indolence and incapacity. Conscience has come down 



BRAINS. 123 

the centuries making the most egregious blunders for 
lack of knowledge. From the days when Paul strove 
tb render God service by persecuting the Christian 
church, down to the present, there is no base or abom- 
inable thing that has not been perpetrated under the 
plea of conscience. Innocent women have been burned 
as witches, great estates have been confiscated, and hu- 
man beings have been tortured and killed, with the 
idea that such atrocities fulfilled the will of God. In 
short, cruelty, robbery, and murder have been perpe- 
trated in the name of conscience, not because men 
wished to do wrong, but because they did not know 
enough to do what was right. Their conscience lacked 
enlightenment. They endeavored to live the moral life 
without building it up on a basis of intelligence. 

In like manner, the nobler phases of the religious 
life are possible only to him who thinks. A religion 
that does not rest on a basis of knowledge is nothing 
better than superstition. If I am to worship the Di- 
vine Being, I must know Him for myself, and must be 
assured that He possesses qualities that render Him 
worthy of all praise. To worship a God of whom we 
know nothing, is to adore a cipher. If we are not 
sure that God is the grandest and best of beings, 
what right have we to apply to Him the most exalted 
of titles, and thus convert worship into a mockery — a 
mere passing of insincere and empty compliments! 

One of the greatest mistakes that can be made is 
to urge upon men the necessity of receiving the opin- 
ions of others about God, rather than the necessity of 
f' v ming opinions and convictions for themselves. A 



124 BEA TEN PA THS - 

purely conventional religion has but little value. If 
you do not understand why you believe, your faith 
will be timid and helpless against cultured scepticism 
or keen-witted ridicule. The youth who takes his 
opinions ready-made from the society of the country 
village in which he is bred, is apt to fling these opin- 
ions to the winds during the first few months of his 
life in the city. The noblest, the strongest, the most 
efficient faith is that which we work out for ourselves 
with fear and trembling. Such a faith is not cheap. 
It can never be possessed by the indifferent, the indo- 
lent, or the cowardly. He that would have it must be 
prepared to face doubts and problems without number, 
and to wrestle with them through long and weary 
watches of the night, until at last the truth reveals 
itself in its strength and splendor, and satisfies the 
heart. To interpret the Bible aright, to interpret 
aright the fundamental principles of our own religious 
nature, to behold God in nature and in history, to 
adjust the latest discoveries of science to the great 
doctrines of religion, to establish the claims of relig- 
ion itself in the face of all the arguments that scepti- 
cism is urging against it, — to do that which the very 
necessities of our religious life impose upon us, re- 
quires no small degree of intellectual effort But 
when once this mental labor is undergone, there can 
be no question but that the assured faith and the in- 
telligent piety resulting from it are infinitely better 
than a faith founded on ignorance, credulity, and self- 
distrust. The highest type of religion is not that 
manifested by some ignorant creature who faithfully 



BRAINS. 1 2.5 

attends the ordinances of the church, but who has not 
interest enough to read, courage enough to question, 
nor brains enough to grasp what may be said on the 
great themes of revelation ; the ideal piety is dis- 
closed rather in that trained and scholarly Pharisee 
whose vigorous and commanding intellectual ability 
has given to our Christian theology for so many years 
a distinctively Pauline coloring. 

Though the intellectual life demands more toil and 
struggle than a life of brainless inanity, it brings ample 
compensations in the way of happiness. Blessed is the 
man who thinks. He discerns the cloud of mystery 
that hangs above this little life of ours ; but he also 
perceives the light that fills the earth with splendor, 
and that discloses the path of peace. He has doubts 
and questions ; but he has also assurances and reve- 
lations. The normal exercise of his intellectual 
powers brings to him a delicate and protracted enjoy- 
ment and a consciousness of superiority and worth. 
Through studies wide and varied interests are opened 
to him, such as are able to redeem the most ordinary 
life from commonplaceness and insipidity. A noble- 
man once contemptuously asked a sage, " What have 
you got by all your philosophy ? " " At least," was 
the reply, "I have got society in myself." The man 
of intelligence and education is rendered in a great 
measure independent of circumstances, and can find 
at any time solace and companionship in a book or a 
picture. The commonest of natural objects, the most 
ordinary of human lives, — a bit of sky, a pebble, a 
human face, become most entertaining and suggestive 



I 2 6 BE A TEN PA THS. 

to him. If it is your ambition to be happy in life, the 
culture of the intellectual powers will abundantly com- 
pensate you for any time, pains, or money that you 
may expend upon it. 

Hence I have no hesitation in commending to you 
the advantages of a liberal education. By this I 
mean something very different from a technical edu- 
cation, one that fits you for business pursuits and 
nothing more, an education in the line of the work 
that will fall to you in after life. This, in its own 
place, is a desirable thing. A liberal education, how- 
ever, is one that liberalizes you, one that makes you 
liberal, one that liberates you from narrowness, pre- 
judice, and provincialism. A liberal education is one 
that enables you to search for the truth in a disinter- 
ested manner, and to rejoice in it whenever it may be 
found. Such an education will give discipline, tone, 
and inspiration to the mind ; it will lift you above the 
tyranny of the senses ; it will open up to you a hun- 
dred sources of joy from which you would otherwise 
be debarred forever ; and by making you broad- 
minded and quick-witted men and women, its tendency 
will be to make you better merchants and mechanics, 
milliners and house-keepers. 

The practical question is, How may such an educa- 
tion be acquired. The mind dreads exercise and toil, 
and the problem of all education is how to so disci- 
pline and develop it, that toil will become habitual 
and easy. For this purpose there is nothing to be 
compared with that thorough training in science and 
literature which is furnished by our higher schools and 



BRAINS. 127 

colleees. I would not affirm that these institutions 
have a monopoly of culture, or that they are indis- 
pensable in the development of the mental powers. 
But I insist that the man who attempts to climb to in- 
tellectual power and refinement without their aid, 
places, himself under serious disadvantages. One may 
get to San Francisco by travelling on foot ; but one 
would get there much more easily and rapidly by 
taking the train. 

What the railway does for travel, the college does 
for culture. It places a man for four years amid such 
surroundings as compel him to keep his powers of 
observation, memory and judgment in constant exer- 
cise. It furnishes every incentive toward intellectual 
effort. The very atmosphere of the college is charged 
with mental stimulus. Through the daily routine of 
study, the student is brought into contact with the 
greatest thinkers of the world. The lights of the ages 
become his intimate companions. For him Plato 
weaves the meshes of his thought, and Homer tunes 
his lyre. For him Linnaeus examines the flower, and 
Kepler measures the spaces of the firmament. For 
him planets are weighed, and rocks are broken, and 
the depths of the sea are made to disclose their secrets. 
For him History outspreads its glowing panorama 
and Philosophy probes the mysteries of the soul. 
The nine Muses wait upon the student, ever beseech- 
ing him, " If there be any beauty, if there be any 
truth, if there be any goodness, cleave to these things ! " 

Now, the man who can come forth from such a reg- 
imen as that, without having profited by it to an 



128 BEATEN PATHS. 

almost unbounded extent, must certainly have slighted 
his opportunities. If there is anything adapted to 
wake us up and form the habit of mental toil within 
us, it is surely just such a course as I have described. 
No matter what the after career may be, discipline 
like this must be exceedingly serviceable. There are 
narrow-minded men, who, because they see no imme- 
diate connection between translating Cicero and man- 
ufacturing stoves, declare that a college course is a 
waste of time, labor, and money. Could there be a 
greater mistake? In the college-gymnasium many a 
young fellow spends time and strength in learning to 
lift heavy weights, and box, and circle the horizontal 
bar, though he has not the remotest intention of ulti- 
mately earning a living by becoming a professional 
acrobat or prize-fighter. The gymnastic exercises find 
their value in that development of body which they facil- 
itate. And in the same way the study of the higher 
mathematics, the classics, and the natural sciences, is of 
inestimable value in the development of the mind. It 
is a mental gymnastic. It forms within us the habit 
of using the mental powers, a habit which eventually 
becomes so fixed that we think without any conscious- 
ness of effort, and find it easier to use the mind than 
to let it lie idle. 

So far as the practical value of 'a college course is 
concerned, experience shows that by far the larger 
proportion of the most lucrative positions in the 
country are held by college graduates. But at the 
same time, this whole matter needs to be viewed in 
something other than the mercenary light". A liberal 



BRAINS. 129 

education is not so much an education for work as an 
education for manhood. Even though it should never 
help you to earn an extra penny, it will unquestion- 
ably make you more of a man. The college is a stand- 
ing protest against the sordidness and materialism of 
the age. It emphasizes the essential spirituality of 
human nature, and witnesses to the fact that the intel- 
lectual powers have a value of their own, and are 
worthy of being trained and disciplined on other con- 
siderations than that of the financial profit that may 
result therefrom. 

One needs to be somewhat urgent in enforcing the 
claims of this higher culture upon those who are 
young, because of the great danger that attends de- 
lay. If you do not seize the opportunity of receiving 
this education in youth, the chance will never return 
to you. There are changes going on within you and 
without, which will effectually prevent a return of 
present opportunity. When you are young, the mind 
readily yields to discipline, and receives deep and 
permanent impressions. Mental habits are then be- 
ing formed with great rapidity. But soon these habits 
will become fixed and unyielding. Soon, too, you 
will be going out into the world, and taking your own 
part in its affairs ; and the years will pass so quickly 
that, long before you realize it, you will become en- 
tangled in pursuits and interests from which nothing 
but death can extricate you. Very soon you will be 
too old to take a college course ; no man or woman 
in middle life can become young again, and go to 
school. 



130 BEATEN PATHS. 

For you who are young, therefore, the matter of 
receiving an education is a question of now or never. 
And I cannot overemphasize the statement that no 
sacrifice is too great to be made for this development 
of your higher nature. I have known young men to 
endure almost every conceivable hardship in order 
that such an education might be acquired. I have 
known them to wear old clothes, and live in mean 
lodgings, and subsist on humble food, and mortgage 
their future heavily by involving themselves in debt ; 
but I have never yet known a single student to regret 
the sacrifices and hardships by which the delights of 
learning have been opened up to him. I believe that 
such a course will abundantly pay you in the future, 
not only in money, but in self-respect, in joy, in enlarged 
influence, in that finest coin of manhood and woman- 
hood, beside which the gold and jewels of this world 
are only tinsel and dross. 



VI. 

HABITS. 

" Habit is the deepest law of human nature. It is our supreme 
strength, if also, in certain circumstances, our miserable weakness." 

— Carlyle % 

" For use almost can change the stamp of nature, 
And master the devil, or throw him out 
With wondrous potency." 

— Shakespeare. 

"Choose that course of action which is best, and custom will soon 
render it the most agreeable." — Pythagoras, 



w 



mm%&% 



ALEY says, " Man is a bundle 
of habits." There is no domain 
of human nature in which they 
fail to manifest their presence. 
They pervade body, soul, and 
spirit. The tones of the voice, 
the changes of the features, 
words and deeds, thoughts and desires are all regu- 
lated by them. In our eating and drinking, our sleep- 
ing and waking, our domestic, social, business, and 
religious affairs, we are little more than creatures of 
habit. Take away from a man all his habits, and 
what have you left ? Nothing, surely, except the un- 
developed and characterless substance of babyhood. 
All else is habit. Through the summers and winters 



I 34 BE A TEN PA THS. 

of your life habits of various kinds have been grow- 
ing ; and now, according to Paley, these habits are all 
bundled together, and that bundle is you ! 

So great are the results wrought by habit, that it 
astonishes us to discover what a simple and appar- 
ently insignificant thing it is in itself. Look into the 
word, and you see at once that it comes from that old 
Latin verb habeo which means, to have. Habit, then, 
is something that we have. We may say that it is 
what men have after certain actions or experiences 
have been repeated — the tendency or facility that is 
acquired by this repetition. Nature appears to have 
no preferences as to what we shall do or leave un- 
done ; but when once we have established a precedent 
for ourselves, she holds us to it by making every de- 
viation a source of discomfort to us. It is always 
easier for us to act as we have previously acted than 
it is for us to adopt a new line of conduct. Cherish 
a certain thought to-day, and when that thought re- 
turns to you to-morrow, you will find it easier to 
harbor it than to dismiss it. Slight to-day's opportu- 
nity, and you will be all the more ready to slight to- 
morrow's. Yield to the feelings of anger once, and 
you will find it easier to yield again. The first time 
any deed is performed or any experience undergone, 
the seed of habit is sown ; and every time that action 
or experience is repeated, this seed matures with in- 
creasing rapidity. 

Habit, therefore, brings with it more and more of 
facility in the performance of things that at first may 
have required a great degree of conscious effort. 



HABITS. 135 

The child who is learning to speak, labors in the 
articulation of every syllable ; but when once the 
tongue has become habituated to its work, it prattles 
along as tireless as a machine. The boy who is learn- 
ing to write, finds that every stroke of the pen re- 
quires an express volitional effort ; but in time habit 
comes to his aid, and the writing does itself, without 
making any conscious drain upon his energies. The 
first step towards sin or righteousness is always the 
most difficult, but with each succeeding step, habit 
makes the upward or downward way easier. Indeed, 
to such an extent does habit grow upon us, that it is 
said to form in time a second nature. The only 
reason we can assign for many of the things that we 
do in later life is that, through long practice, they 
have become so habitual to us that we cannot help 
doing them. Our second nature enforces its claims 
quite as strongly as our first nature ; so that it be- 
comes as imperative for us to act in the line of our 
habits as to eat or sleep or breathe. 

The wits have suggested, therefore, that instead of 
saying habit is something that we have, it would be 
nearer the truth to declare that it is something which 
has us. The schoolboy who was detected in the act 
of whistling excused himself by saying, " I did not 
whistle; it whistled itself ! " The action had become 
so habitual to him that he lapsed into it unconsciously 
and involuntarily. Dr. Johnson was to such an ex- 
tent the victim of habit that he could not refrain from 
touching every post he passed as he walked along the 
street. The philosopher Kant, while pondering the 



I 3 6 BE A TEN PA THS. 



great problems of speculation, had so accustomed 
himself to fasten his eyes upon the tower of a certain 
church that was visible from his study-window, that 
when some poplars grew up, obscuring the view, he 
found it impossible to continue his meditations ; and 
at his earnest request the trees were cropped and the 
tower brought once more into sight, after which the 
current of philosophical thought flowed on as satis- 
factorily as ever. The story is preserved to us of an 
advocate who could never plead a case without hav- 
ing in his hand the end of a thread which was wound 
tightly around one of his thumbs. The wags spoke 
of it as " the thread of his discourse ; " and when on 
one occasion it was stolen from him by way of a joke, 
so disconcerted did he become over the privation, that 
he found himself unable to speak, and lost his case. A 
certain Scotch clergyman after involuntarily helping 
himself to a liberal pinch of snuff, announced as his 
text, " My soul cleaveth to the dust," and then won- 
dered why the congregation lapsed into a smile. And 
mention is made of another preacher who, endeavor- 
ing to recall some passage of Scripture that referred 
to Peter, repeated, " Peter, Peter" — and then yielding to 
the habit that had been fostered in his nursery days, re- 
cited to the horrified congregation, " Peter, Peter, 
pumpkin-eater!" "Thus use," as Shakespeare says, 
" doth breed a habit in a man ;" and instead of saying 
that we have the habit, it might be more correct to say 
that the habit has us. 

If we compare the soul to a garden, habits will 
stand for the various plants that grow in it. In classi- 



HABITS. 137 

fying these plants, men usually make two divisions. 
On the one side they put all the things that are use- 
ful or beautiful, — the flowers, the vegetables, the 
shrubs ; and on the other side they put the weeds. 
Thus may habits also be divided into two classes, 
those that are useful or beautiful, and those that are 
ugly or pernicious — good habits and bad ones. If 
you wish weeds to grow in your garden, what must 
you do to it ? Just leave it alone, and the weeds will 
come of themselves fast enough. But if you wish 
your garden to bring forth flowers and fruit, you must 
care for it, and spend thought and toil upon it. Bad 
habits grow just as easily as weeds. They come of 
their own accord, and will, if you permit them, infest 
and take possession of the fairest portions of the soul. 
But good habits come not without care and culture. 
He that would form them must be prepared to toil 
and to put forth the entire amount of virtuous energy 
that the Divine Being has placed at his disposal. 

Because bad habits grow in this way like weeds, de- 
manding no expenditure of thought or effort on our 
part, they are very likely to reach a considerable de- 
gree of development before our attention is called to 
them at all. Where it costs us something of an effort 
to form a habit — where we have to till the soil, and 
plant the seed, and water it, and hoe it, and give some 
attention to it daily and even hourly, there is very little 
danger that we shall become unconscious of the fact 
that it is there and growing. But where habits plant 
themselves and grow without care, they are liable to 
attain a surprising degree of strength before thrust- 



1 3 8 BE A TEN PA THS. 

ing themselves upon our notice. How true, then, is 
the poet's statement : 

" 111 habits gather by unseen degrees, 

As brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas." 

Now, it is possible to control the brook at any part 
of its course ; but as it expands into a river and the 
river swells toward the sea, there is, there must be, 
some point at which the ordinary powers of man 
prove insufficient to curb and control 'the volume of 
waters. Or, to return to our former figure, when the 
little seed, borne on the wings of the wind, falls into 
your garden-plot, and there comes up a tiny maple, 
it is at the beginning so exceedingly feeble, that with 
your two fingers you can easily pluck it up and de- 
stroy it. But the second year it becomes stronger 
and larger ; and as time passes there comes a period 
when not all the strength you possess suffices to tear 
it out from its lodgment in the earth. Thus it is with 
evil habit. As it is beginning to, form within you, it 
may be uprooted easily ; but if you suffer it to remain 
and grow, it will, with time, pass beyond the region 
of your control ; and it will do this so gradually and 
insensibly that you will not be able to point to the 
day nor the month when the transition occurs. 

For this reason, those who are forming bad habits 
are invariably deluded into supposing that they can 
at any time reform themselves. The growth goes on 
so gradually that they do not realize it. He who is 
just treading on the brink of a drunkard's grave is 
apt to resent any manifestation of concern on the 



HABITS. 1 39 

part of his friends, and assures them that he is not a 
child, that he holds himself well in hand, and that he 
can abandon his cups at any time, if he so desire. 
This danger is always before us. We never know 
how strong the current is, until we try to swim against 
it ; we never know how tenaciously the sapling grips 
the earth, until we endeavor to uproot it ; we cannot 
realize how strong is that bondage to evil habit in 
which we are enthralled, until we make some effort to 
escape from it. Habit that seems weaker than a film 
of silk to those who are quiescent, becomes stronger 
than dungeon-bars to those who would escape. 

A moderate drinker who felt that he possessed per- 
fect control of himself, once became exceedingly angry 
with a friend who was urgent in pressing the argu- 
ment that the only safety is to be found in total 
abstinence. "What, sir," exclaimed he, " do you think 
I have lost control over myself?" "I do not know," 
was the reply, "but let us put it to the proof: for the 
next six months do not touch a drop." This proposi- 
tion was accepted, and for a month the moderate 
drinker kept his promise. At the end of this period 
he said to his friend, with tears in his eyes, " I believe 
you have saved me from a drunkard's grave. I never 
knew before that I was in any sense a slave to drink, 
but during the last month I have fought the fiercest 
battle of my life. Had the test been tried later on, it 
might have been too late." The poet Burns declared 
that if a barrel of rum were placed in the room, with 
a loaded cannon guarding it, the habit to which he 
had enslaved himself would compel him to approach 

9 



1 40 BE A TEN PA THS. 

the intoxicating liquor and perish. Not without 
reason did Augustine declare, "Habit, if not resisted, 
soon becomes necessity." 

From the depths of his own bitter and terrible ex- 
perience, Charles Lamb, witty, gifted, ruined, lifts up 
his voice in warning : " The waters have gone over me. 
But out of the black depths, could I be heard, I would 
cry out to all those who have but set one foot in the 
perilous flood. Could the youth, to whom the flavor 
of his first wine is delicious as the opening scene of 
life or the entering upon some newly discovered par- 
adise, look into my desolation, and be made to under- 
stand what a dreary thing it is when a man shall feel 
himself going down a precipice with open eyes and a 
passive will — to see his destruction and have no power 
to stop it, yet feel it all the way emanating from him- 
self ; to see all goodness emptied out of him, and yet 
not be able to forget a time when it was otherwise ; 
to bear about the piteous spectacle of his own ruin ; 
could he see my fevered eye, feverish with last night's 
drinking, and feverishly looking for to-night's repeti- 
tion of the folly ; could he but feel the body of the 
death out of which I cry hourly, with feebler outcry, 
to be delivered, it were enough to make him dash the 
sparkling beverage to the earth in all its mantling 
temptation." 

I would have you realize that to play at raising bad 
habits, is the most dangerous and delusive practice in 
which you can engage. On every hand you see men 
of wealth, men of culture, men of social position, men 
of talent who mieht have made a mark in the world 



HABITS. 141 

drifting down to ruin, because they have fancied 
that for a few years they might experiment in growing 
bad habits in this garden of the soul, and then uproot 
them without trouble or retribution. What you see 
around you should teach you to avoid making a simi- 
lar mistake yourselves. Even those few who, after 
a few years of indulgence, succeed in breaking away 
from their sinful courses, are never, so far as human 
eyes can follow them, the individuals that they might 
have been with better discipline. The habit may be 
uprooted, but it leaves a disfiguring mark behind. 

. " Wounds of the soul, though healed, will ache ; 
The reddening scars remain and make 

Confession. 
Lost innocence returns no more, 
We are not what we were before 
Transgression." 

The only thing for you to do with a bad habit is to 
break it off as quickly as possible. Nothing is to be 
gained by postponing the day of amendment. The 
longer it remains, the stronger it grows. You will need 
to exercise great patience with yourself in this mat- 
ter ; for you can hardly expect that in a single day or 
month you will be able to get rid of habits that have 
been developing themselves for years. 

" How shall I a habit break? 
As you did that habit make. 
As you gathered, you must loose ; 
As you yielded, now refuse. 
Thread by thread the strand we twist 
Till they bind us neck and wrist ; 
Thread by thread the patient hand 
Must untwine ere free we stand. 



142 BE A TEN PA THS. 

As we builded, stone by stone, 
We must toil, unhelped, alone, 
Till the wall is overthrown." 

The Comte de Buffon gives great encouragement 
to those who are trying to eradicate bad habits, by 
telling how he broke himself of the custom of lying 
abed in the mornings. Being removed by his heredi- 
tary wealth from the necessity of toil, and having 
through natural indolence allowed this habit to grow 
upon him for years, he found that he had set before 
himself a most herculean task. After repeated fail- 
ures, he called his servant Joseph to his assistance. 
He says : " I promised to give Joseph a crown every 
time that he would make me get up at six. Next 
morning he did not fail to wake me and to torment 
me ; but he only received abuse. The next day after, 
he did the same, with no better success ; and I was 
obliged to confess at noon that I had lost my time. I 
told him that he did not know how to manage his 
business ; he ought to think of my promise, and not 
to mind my threats. The following day he employed 
force. I begged for indulgence ; I bade him begone ; 
I stormed — but Joseph persisted. I was therefore 
obliged to comply ; but he was rewarded every day 
for the abuse which he suffered at the moment when I 
awoke, by thanks accompanied with a crown, which he 
received about an hour after. Yes, I am indebted to 
poor Joseph for ten or a dozen volumes of my works." 

You do well to notice here that Buffon endeavored 
to form the habit of early rising not as an end in 
itself, but simply as a means of saving time for the 



HABITS. 143 

prosecution of his literary and scientific labors. 
Therein lies the secret of all moral reform. Where 
we strive to form a habit as an end in itself, the prob- 
ability is that we shall never acquire it. But where 
we have something to do that we feel is well worth 
doing, we shall not allow bad habits to stand long in 
the way of its accomplishment. Take the positive 
rather than the negative method. As Thoreau says, 
" Be not simply good, but be good for something." 
Try to do that thing which is worthiest of you, and 
bad habits will be conquered easily. If you make it 
the end of your life to keep your garden free from 
weeds, there might as well be no garden there at all. 
But if you make it the end of your life to grow some- 
thing good and precious in that garden, you should 
not find much difficulty in keeping the weeds down. 

Strive to find some larger purpose in life than is in- 
volved in any little plan of self-culture. You need to 
get out of and beyond yourself. You need the anvil 
of some great conviction on which your soul may be 
shaped by a power mightier than your own. You 
need to be lifted up on the wings of some glorious 
enthusiasm, something that can command the noblest 
energies of your being. And then, as you are mak- 
ing straight for the goal, if any bad habit interpose 
itself, you will leap over it at a single bound. 

By wise choice and persistent effort habit may 
be made to render us the most signal and inestimable 
service. There is no good quality of mind or heart, 
hand or conscience, that it will not develop. Habit 
gives cunning to the fingers of the artisan, and facil- 



1 44 BE A TEN PA THS. 

ity of utterance to the orator, and an assurance of 
victory to the struggling saint. When you see the 
student drawing information from the printed page, 
or the accountant rapidly casting up a column of fig- 
ures, or the editor dashing off, as if by magic, a pun- 
gent article that will be quoted everywhere the day 
after its appearance ; or when you behold the practised 
fingers of the musician gliding over the keys of his in- 
strument and provoking the richest harmonies, you may 
know that it is habit that renders such results possi- 
ble. The sure touch of the painter, the skill of the 
victorious general, the superb tact of the accomplished 
hostess, and the inflexible righteousness of a godly 
man are all the result of habit. Habit can make the 
lumbering brain quick as lightning in its movements ; 
habit can tame the shrewish tongue, and give grace to 
the clumsy foot. Habit can develop power, precision, 
and beauty in every movement, where aforetime there 
was nothing but weakness and awkwardness. Habit 
inures the body to hardship and wears away the edge 
of grief. Habit, that builds a dungeon for the bad, 
builds for the good a palace, rich, radiant, and eternal. 
Do not suppose, however, that good habits can be 
formed easily. You will need to summon all the re- 
sources of wisdom and moral strength that you pos- 
sess in order to acquire them. Weeds grow without 
care, but flowers and fruits do not. Even on the low- 
est physical plane, we find abundant illustrations of 
this law. The proper carriage, condition, and control 
of the body are attained only by putting thought and 
resolution upon them. A lower animal takes a posi- 



HABITS. 145 

tion of grace, of dignity, of beauty, by the inherent 
law of its being ; but man takes such a posture only 
by resisting one or more of his natural tendencies. It 
is easier to be unkempt, slouchy, and awkward, than it 
is to form habits of the opposite character. Good 
habits, in the way of eating, sleeping, and exercising, 
never come of themselves. We must think about 
them, and cultivate them with patient care. Even in 
matters physical, the excellent things come as the re- 
ward of intelligence and resolve. 

But when we come to examine the intellectual part 
of our being, and note how the mind is forming hab- 
its, the necessity of exercising the will becomes still 
more apparent. If these intellectual faculties of ours 
are to work at their best, they must be roused and 
maintained in an alert condition until the habit of at- 
tention is fully formed. Here, as in everything else, 
birth and circumstances may do a great deal, but they 
cannot do everything. At great critical seasons, no 
special effort towards alertness and attention is re- 
quired. The magnitude and importance of the cir- 
cumstances in which we are placed give sufficient stim- 
ulus for the time being. But in the ordinary affairs 
of every-day life, where no such stimulus is afforded, 
the natural tendency is to allow the intellectual ener- 
gies to stagnate. How easy it is to be stupid ; how 
hard to keep always wide awake ! 

The principal aim of education, therefore, is to cul- 
tivate in the child good mental habits ; and to this end 
he is surrounded by such circumstances and associa- 
tions as compel him to observe and think. After a 



146 BEATEN PATHS. 

time habits of observation and reflection become fully 
formed, mental activity becomes a second nature, and 
the mind responds to the promptings of this acquired 
nature to such an extent that it becomes easier for it 
to put forth its energies than to permit them to lie 
dormant. Those in whom education has made mental 
activity a necessity go forth into the world better 
equipped for any .and every career. 

How much can be done for the mind by the aid of 
habit, is shown in the remarkable feats of the Houdins, 
father and son. It was their custom to train the powers 
of observation by passing one shop window after 
another, and, with a single glance, attempting to write 
down all the articles that the window contained. And 
so expert did they become in time, that a single look 
enabled them to take in all the objects exposed to 
view, however many these might be. It was toil, and 
not magic, that brought about this astonishing result. 

In the formation of business habits, also, experience 
shows that the bad ones come of themselves, while 
the good ones are developed only by culture. Lax, 
easy, slipshod methods of working can be acquired 
without any effort, and, when once formed within 
us, are apt to become as irreversible as the laws 
of the Medes and Persians. But careful, prudent, 
and thorough-going methods of work can be estab- 
lished only with pains and toil. How much habit does 
for the worker, can hardly be overestimated. Every 
acquired facility that we possess is to be attributed to 
its agency. A recent visitor to the mills where the 
bank-note paper is manufactured for the Government, 



HABITS. 147 

thus describes the swiftness with which the sheets were 
examined and counted : " I saw one girl whose mo- 
tions resembled those of a machine in their accuracy 
and lightning-like rapidity. My eye could not follow 
the monotonous, flashing movement of her fingers ; 
yet so delicate and unerring was her touch that every 
imperfect sheet was instantly detected and dropped." 
The narrator adds that in this girl he discovered an 
old schoolmate whose fingers two years before had 
been as clumsy as his own. It was habit that had 
given them their dexterity. 

Any amount of energy may be expended in the 
formation of good business habits with the conscious- 
ness that it will be amply repaid. What at first is 
nothing but drudgery becomes through habit a posit- 
ive pleasure. Good business habits are like so many 
well trained servants, each one taking from us the 
strain and anxiety of some particular branch of our 
work. " The great thing in all education," says a re- 
cent writer, " is to make automatic and habitual, as 
early as possible, as many useful actions as we can, 
and to guard against the growing into ways that are 
likely to be disadvantageous to us, as we should guard 
against the plague. The more of the details of our 
daily life we can hand over to the infallible and effort- 
less custody of automatism, the more our higher 
powers of mind will be set free for their own proper 
work. There is no more miserable being than one in 
whom nothing is habitual but indecision, and for 
whom the time of rising and going to bed every day, 
and the beginning of every bit of work, are subjects 



1 48 BE A TEN PA THS. 

of express volitional determination. Full half the 
time of such a man goes to the deciding or regretting 
of matters which ought to have been so thoroughly 
ingrained in him as practically not to exist for his 
consciousness at all." 

The historian Hume declared that the habit of look- 
ing on the bright side of things is worth more than an 
income of a thousand pounds a year. But because 
this habit is a good one, it does not come unsought. 
The easier course is for one to look always on the 
dark side of things, and to give way to the " blues." 
We fall into darkness ; we climb into light. The 
great reason why so many people are unhappy in this 
world is because they have never made any effort to 
cultivate the habit of cheerfulness. They have not 
habituated themselves to face misfortunes and surmount 
them. Fully half the blessings of life go to waste be- 
cause human beings have not accustomed themselves 
to take note of them and appreciate them. To him 
who makes an effort to enjoy the world as he is pass- 
ing through it, no day ever dawns that does not afford 
countless opportunities for satisfaction and delight. 

How much habit can do in the way of making a 
man happy, is shown by that aged prisoner of the 
Bastile who had so adapted himself to his dungeon 
that, when released, he prayed to be restored again 
to the old and familiar confinement. If one, amid 
such dreary and comfortless surroundings, could 
find life tolerable, surely there is no earthly lot that 
will not present pleasant features to him who searches 
for them patiently and resolutely. Little by little we 



HABITS. 149 

may cultivate within ourselves pleasant frames of mind 
and a disposition to face the future with a cheerful cour- 
age ; and the habit that thus ensues will not only 
bring to us strength and influence, but it will also 
yield us such joys as wealth and kingdoms cannot 
furnish. 

So far as growth in moral character is concerned, 
our success or failure depends almost entirely on the 
use we make of our powers of will. It is only as we 
are strenuous and earnest and self-denying that growth 
in righteousness becomes at all possible to us. The 
way to ruin is a down-hill road, and where one is lax 
and indifferent, he is almost sure to take it. Bad 
moral habits require no care or culture, but begin to 
form within us the very moment that our vigilance is 
relaxed. Where we yield to the solicitations of our 
lower nature, and decide upon living an easy life 
rather than a noble one, our doom is sealed ; but if 
we can only accustom ourselves to deciding promptly 
and firmly for what is wise and right, a future rich 
with infinite promise opens before us. After the first 
step in moral living has been taken, habit comes to 
render the next one easier. In this respect it is like 
the little garrison that holds the conquered citadel, 
while the main body of the army is left free to press 
forward to new victories. In the course of time, the 
habit of right doing may so grow upon us as to be- 
come a second nature, leading us to do the right thing 
always, instinctively, without a moment's hesitation. 
Moral results that were realized at first only by dint 
of the severest effort are then achieved with almost 



I 50 BE A TEN PA THS. 

unconscious automatism. And when one has become 
so habituated to right action as to make wrong doing 
a moral impossibility, with joy unspeakable the soul 
glories in her freedom and her power. Invisible 
forces seem to wait upon her and set her forward in 
her lofty flight. Not for her the easy road, the path 
of self-indulgence. Thrilling with the blissful exhila- 
ration of her moral strength she strains every energy 
to the utmost, and presses up that straight and nar- 
row way which leads through the storm-cloud to the 
mountain summit, where the heavens and the earth 
kiss one another, and where alone the perfect vision 
and the perfect rest can be secured. 

Habits of some kind we must form, whether we 
wish to do so or not. They are developing in us all 
the time. If we lie still and do nothing, they grow 
upon us ; but they mature equally when we are busy 
and energizing with all our powers. If we were stones, 
we should not stand under this law of necessity ; but 
being human, we are compelled to form habits of one 
kind or another. The most important question that 
we can undertake to answer is, What habits will we 
cultivate, and what ones will we avoid ? The critical 
importance of this question cannot be overestimated. 
The entire future turns upon the answer that we give 
to it. After the work of life, with its disciplines, its 
lessons, and its opportunities, is finished and over, 
habits are all that remain as our inalienable and 
eternal possession. Whatsoever a man soweth, that 
shall he also reap. This law is as constant and as inev- 
itable as the law of gravity. He that allows habits to 



HABITS. 1 51 

mature without thought, without toil, without moral 
strenuousness, can reap nothing but weeds ; but he 
that is thoughtful, watchful, earnest, self-denying, will 
reap a harvest, precious, plenteous, and eternal. 

If you were building a house in which you knew 
you would be compelled to live forever, what infinite 
pains you would expend upon planning it aright and 
perfecting every detail in its construction ! Habits 
form the soul's eternal dwelling-place. Little by 
little the structure grows ; but when once it is com- 
plete, there is no escaping from it : we must abide in 
it forever. 



VII. 
DRESS. 



" From little matters let us pass to less, 
And lightly touch the mysteries of dress ; 
The outward forms the inner man reveal, 
We guess the pulp before we eat the peel. 
One single precept might the whole condense — 
Be sure your tailor is a man of sense." 

— O. IV. Holmes. 

" To make dress the grand object of life ; to think of nothing and 
talk of nothing but that which pertains to the drapery and artificial orna- 
ment of the person, is to transform the trick of a courtesan into amuse- 
ment for a fool."—/. G. Holland. 



RESS is as old as Eden and 
as common as the race. It is a 
distinguishing mark of the hu- 
man species. Men and women 
differentiate themselves from 
everything that swims or crawls, 
walks or flies, by the fact that 
they alone are arrayed in garments. What nature 
furnishes spontaneously for the lower orders of crea- 
tion, industry and skill must provide for man. The 
horse and the dog are supplied with ready-made 
clothing of a perfect fit, free of all "expense; but 
the great Creator has evidently intended that you and 




DRESS. 155 

I shall spend time and thought and strength in solv- 
ing that most pressing question, Wherewithal shall we 
be clothed ? 

In assuming garments, man is guided by rational 
considerations rather than by blind instinct. Instinct, 
indeed, seems to cast its vote against clothes. The 
human being upon whom they are placed for the first 
time instinctively kicks them off as speedily as possi- 
ble. The reasons which eventually lead him to con- 
tent himself with going clad are of three kinds, con- 
siderations of modesty, of comfort, and of beauty. 

To modesty belongs the first place in the moral 
and also in the historical order. That wonderful 
story of Genesis, whose main principles are receiving 
constant confirmation from the discoveries of science, 
declares that it was modesty which led our first par- 
ents to clothe themselves. To this motive considera- 
tions of comfort, beauty, and utility must be subordi- 
nated. Civilization pays to modesty the highest trib- 
ute. Even in climates where the heat is most intense, 
civilized beings, at their own discomfort, go clothed. 
Partial nakedness is a sign of barbarism. As we 
advance from the savage toward the civilized peoples, 
clothes play a more and more important part in giv- 
ing satisfaction to the promptings of modesty. It is 
because the feeling of modesty is so poorly de- 
veloped among savages that they permit so much of 
the person to remain exposed. 

This indicates the rational ground on which the pul- 
pit has seen fit, from time to time, to deliver invec- 
tives against some of our immodest customs in the 



I 5 6 BE A TEN PA THS. 

matter of dress. The essential principle of modesty is 
to conceal the person as far as possible ; and where 
dress is so cut as to expose rather than conceal, the 
inference is irresistible. On this general principle 
one is compelled to admit that the garment which 
exposes the person is immodest. But it must be dis- 
tinctly understood that it is to the dress, rather than 
to the being who wears it, that the character of im- 
modesty is to be ascribed. Those who adopt the 
fashion are, generally speaking, as much creatures of 
their environment as are the natives of Fiji or of the 
interior of Africa. It never occurs to them to antag- 
onize the custom, the unwritten law, of the set in 
which they move. They think little about the matter,, 
and have no conscientious convictions upon it. The 
utmost that criticism can establish, is that they are 
morally undeveloped rather than morally depraved. 

At the same time we must insist that dress which 
exposes rather than conceals the person, is behind 
the demands of modesty in this present generation. 
Not only Christian sentiment but also the convictions, 
of the great majority of the people are against it. At 
one time it was universally tolerated ; but to-day it is 
advocated and retained only by that small circle 
which, throughout the course of history, has invariably 
brought up the rear in every moral reform, the circle 
of the fashionable aristocracy. It is only a question 
of time when its immodesty will be universally recog- 
nized and it will sink into disuse. 

As we advance towards the civilized peoples, we 
are confronted with a very striking fashion, namely 



&XESS. 1 57 

this, that some of the semi-barbaric Oriental nations 
seem to exceed us in modesty, inasmuch as their 
women not only cover the person but also veil the 
face, leaving only the eyes exposed. A slight acquain- 
tance with the interior social life of these peoples is 
sufficient to dissipate any ideas that we might feel 
disposed to entertain concerning their superior purity ; 
and the question is forced upon us, How is it that our 
advanced civilization deems it no infringement of 
modesty for the face to be left exposed ? The answer 
undoubtedly is, that the human face is pre-eminently 
a revealer : it mirrors the thoughts and feelings of the 
soul within. The face is an open bible, on which the 
finger of God has written in unmistakable characters 
this great truth, that man is not simply a living body, 
but that to all intents and purposes he is a living 
soul. And whatever reveals this truth, whatever keeps 
it uppermost in the minds of men, is so subservient to 
the great interests of modesty that it must be suffered 
to execute its mission without restraint. To cover up 
that face which mirrors all that is holiest and divinest 
in human nature, smacks of immodest pruriency rather 
than of modest reserve. 

Next to the face as an index of character comes the 
human hand. The custom of having the hand photo- 
graphed, which is coming into prevalence to-day, rests 
on a more rational foundation than the mere caprice 
of fashion. That cast of Abraham Lincoln's hand 
which has fortunately been preserved to us, gives a 
suggestion of massive strength and imperturbable reso- 
lution, such as well comports with the character of the 

10 



158 BE A TEN PA THS. 

man. Nevertheless, because the hand is so far behind 
the face as a revealer of character, because the expres- 
sion that it gives to spiritual reality is so imperfect, 
custom requires that, on the streets and in promis- 
cuous gatherings, it also shall be concealed in gloves. 
Beyond all question, then, the teaching of modesty is, 
that any style of dress which calls attention to phys- 
ical qualities rather than to spiritual, is to be avoided, 
A second motive that induces the human being to 
assume clothes is the consideration of personal com- 
fort. The Persian proverb declares, " It is the same, 
to him who wears shoes, as if the whole earth were 
covered with leather." And to him who goes clad in 
wool, the blasts of winter become genial as spring- 
zephyrs. So far as intrinsic importance is concerned, 
personal comfort is to be placed ahead of beauty ; but 
it is very probable that in so doing, the historical order 
is violated. The undeveloped savage of to-day will 
make any sacrifice in order to improve his personal 
appearance. He counts not his comfort dear to him- 
self. Wretched and shivering, he will choose a trinket, 
a string of beads, a looking glass, in preference to the 
blanket that would keep him warm. But civilization 
emphasizes comfort. The intelligence of any individ- 
ual may be tested by ascertaining whether he seeks 
first of all to be comfortable or to look beautiful. 
There need be no conflict between these motives, in 
deciding what we shall wear. The comfortable house 
need not be ugly ; nor need the comfortable garment 
offend the most sensitive taste, in color, material, or 
shape. Indeed, so closely allied are comfort and 



DXESS. 159 

beauty, that to speak of the discomforts of fashion, is 
really to indicate some of the ways in which it has 
resulted in ugliness. Any fashion that makes human 
beings uncomfortable tends to make them uncomely 
also. 

As illustrating what I mean, let me remind you of 
that clear perception of beauty, and that passionate 
appreciation of all that is beautiful, which character- 
ized the ancient Greeks ; let me call your attention to 
that ideal of female loveliness which they have be- 
queathed to the world in the Venus de Milo ; and let 
me ask whether the august and queenly beauty of that 
masterpiece of Phidias does not bring strong, though 
silent, reproach upon those discomforts of fashion, by 
which, for generations back, civilized women have been 
deformed. Out on the Pacific slope, there dwells a 
race of Indians known as the Flatheads, whose craniums 
have been distorted through the infernal ingenuity of 
man. Across the sea from them dwells another race, 
the Chinese, the feet of whose women have been so 
compressed from infancy, that a company of Chinese 
ladies is nothing but a band of ungainly, hobbling, 
and comparatively useless cripples. And here, on 
these broad prairies of the West, in the valleys of the 
Mississippi and the Hudson, on the shores of the great 
lakes, and among the New England hills, dwells 
another race, whose women, under a mistaken idea of 
improving the Divine workmanship, have so laced and 
distorted their figures, that Phidias would search in 
vain among them for the counterpart of his master- 
piece. 



1 60 BE A TEN PA THS. 

Whence has come the ridiculous idea that where 
the waist and the feet are concerned, it is smallness 
rather than symmetry that constitutes beauty? Cer- 
tainly it has not been derived from the study of nature 
or the fine arts. It is surely nothing more than a rem- 
nant of savagery, a false and pernicious prejudice, 
which, in the light of our modern ideas, is doomed to 
extinction. The historian of the future will lift up his 
hands in horror and surprise at the discovery that in- 
telligent women in this nineteenth century could be 
so oblivious of the teachings of Greek art, to say 
nothing of physiology, as to follow customs analogous 
to those of the " Heathen Chinee " and the Flathead 
Indian. 

To tell of all the atrocities to which the body has 
been subjected with the idea of enhancing its beauty, 
would require a volume in itself. There is hardly any 
part of the person that has escaped mutilation. The 
skin has been tattooed ; the nose, the lips, the ears, 
have been pierced, and in the openings thus made 
have been inserted pieces of wood, shell, bone, or 
metal. The teeth, even, have been filed into various 
shapes, colored, and decorated with metallic knobs. 
In short, every conceivable device has been adopted 
to improve upon nature, with the invariable result of 
making the human body hideous rather than beauti- 
ful. It is well for us to realize whence we derive the 
custom of interfering with nature's workmanship, and 
what consequences always proceed from such inter- 
ference. 

For the dress or ornamentation that really beauti- 



DRESS. 1 6 1 

fies the person, I can express nothing but approval. 
I believe that God desires us all to become as beauti- 
ful as possible. He who at morn and eventide makes 
the skies a blaze of color ; He who stars the meadows 
in spring with flowers of a hundred hues ; He who 
arrays the autumn woods in glories of crimson and 
gold, and in winter makes every gaunt branch glitter 
with incrustation of diamonds, is surely not averse to 
beauty. The Bible is true to this idea, in represent- 
ing that, in the great hereafter, the saints shall be 
arrayed in garments whiter than the snow and more 
glorious than the light. If our ideas of beauty are 
to be consulted in the other world, why may they not 
be consulted in this ? If there are no robes or jewels 
too beautiful for an immortal spirit, why should the 
followers of Christ make themselves a blotch upon 
the landscape, and go about in ugliness and drab ? 
Whatever such a course may gain by doing violence 
to one's vanity, is more than counterbalanced by its 
tendency to encourage self-righteousness. 

Make yourself as beautiful as possible, and have no 
fears that either your character or your influence will 
suffer loss. Dress develops taste, observation, judg- 
ment, modesty. A becoming dress gives evidence of 
refined culture ; it is an open letter of credit, read 
and honored by all. It prejudices the world in favor 
of the cause that you espouse, and paves the way to 
influence and honor. The first thing we note about 
an individual is his dress ; and our opinion of him be- 
gins to form itself accordingly. 

Dress, too, has a reactionary influence upon the 



1 6 2 BE A TEN PA 77/5. 

character. A pure and modest spirit cannot long be 
maintained in a body that is foully clad. The woman 
with a rasping tongue in her head is proverbially 
"down at the heels." The moral influence of curl- 
papers — what a theme for a homily ! When the hair 
goes into crimps and tangles, the temper follows suit. 
Put a child into his Sunday clothes, and he will don 
his Sunday manners along with them. Blest be the 
woman whose beautiful dress perpetually radiates 
sweetness and light throughout the home ! When 
God would develop a set of priests for the ministra- 
tions of His tabernacle, He prescribed with rigid ex- 
actness every detail of their garments. 

Let your dress be as beautiful and becoming as you 
can make it. You owe this to others as well as to your- 
self. But at the same time, beware of carrying orna- 
mentation too far. It is possible to gild the sculptor's 
masterpiece, but the result is far from satisfactory. It 
is the barbaric mind that revels in adornment. The 
lady of the Orient carries a fortune on her back. In 
brilliancy of dress and in profusion of jewelry, she 
far outshines her sister of the West. She has but one 
competitor in our Western civilization, the over-dressed 
creature whose lavish adornment gives evidence of the 
vulgarity of her mind and the size of her bank 
account. 

The Irishman who was discovered writing a letter 
in characters an inch or more in length, explained that 
the missive was intended for his mother, who was 
afflicted with deafness, and that he wished to " write it 
loud." There are individuals who prefer to dress in 



DfiBSS. 163 

this way. They proceed on the assumption that hu- 
manity is deaf, and they would have their garments 
and their jewelry loud enough to procure notice. But 
through thus seeking to attract attention to them- 
selves, they violate not only the principles of taste, 
but also that principle of modesty which should take 
precedence of everything in matters of dress. Their 
notions of beauty are very properly stigmatized as 
crude and untrustworthy. For the, highest beauty is 
not that which glares and dazzles, not that whose 
aggressiveness compels attention, but rather that 
whose quiet, unobtrusive grace waits discovery at the 
eye of the connoisseur. It is not the leonine sunflower 
of Oscar Wilde, but the shrinking violet, that moves 
the sweetest chords in the poet's lyre. " Virtue," says 
Lord Bacon, "is like a rich stone, best plain set." 
Talents and graces of mind and heart need no mere- 
tricious setting to make the world cognizant of their 
existence. The true principle was disclosed by Dr. 
Johnson when he declared that a certain lady # must 
have been well dressed, because he could not remem- 
ber what she had on. The lady uses dress as an aux- 
iliary, and would feel humiliated to have the world 
take notice of her wardrobe rather than of herself. 
Over ornamentation is worse than no ornamentation 
at all. 

Another evil which we do well to avoid is manifest 
in those who, judged by their dress, appear to rever- 
ence no god but Fashion. What Fashion prescribes, 
they blindly and scrupulously follow. When you think 
of all that Fashion enjoins, you see how small a mar- 



1 64 BE A TEN PA THS. 

gin is left for the exercise of individual taste and pref- 
erences. The size of the foot and of the waist, the 
material of both dress and ornaments, the styles of 
garments, hats, bonnets, and shoes, and even the color 
of the hair are subject to its regulations. When you 
see people painting, powdering, bleaching, pinching, 
deforming and behumping themselves, and adopting 
any discomforts, indecencies, or atrocities that may 
come with the sanction of Fashion upon them, the 
picture of human nature that is thus afforded is not a 
very flattering one. The fashionable world is like a 
flock of scampering sheep, not one of which has any 
intelligent or acceptable reason for following the 
leader. 

Now, it is interesting and profitable to enquire who 
are the leaders of the fashions, and what claim they 
have upon us, that we should blindly and slavishly 
follow them ? These leaders are sometimes to be 
found among the demi-monde of Paris ; sometimes 
they are popular actresses of whose private life the 
less that is said, the better ; sometimes they belong to 
the aristocracy of Europe. In nearly every instance, you 
will find that either the political or the ethical princi- 
ples of these people are diametrically opposed to your 
own. You would not for the world follow them in 
politics, morals, or religion : then why should you fol- 
low them in dress ? 

Fashion is the most arbitrary and autocratic of 
sovereigns. Fashion takes it for granted that the 
majority of people are nothing better than children, 
and must be taught to dress becomingly by blindly 



DRESS. 165. 

imitating a few self-constituted European preceptors. 
Fashion maintains a species of tyranny that should be 
considered more humiliating and intolerable to intel- 
ligent Americans than was ever the tyranny of King 
George III. of England. And I cannot but antici- 
pate the day when rising democratic sentiment here 
and elsewhere will hurl Fashion from her ancient throne, 
and inaugurate a new era, in which men and women 
shall be left comparatively free to consult their own 
taste and comfort in the matter of dress, without 
occasioning surprise or ridicule. 

That day, however, lies far in the future. For the 
present, we are compelled to keep more or less close 
to the fashion-plates, lest we should appear singular. 
That principle of modesty which governs everything 
in dress, will not permit us to be so far unconven- 
tional and eccentric as to invite the attention of the 
world to ourselves. No sane minded person can ever 
be satisfied to give to dress such an ethical importance 
as to make himself or herself a martyr for its sake. 
But all the same, there are occasions when we think it 
well to groan for deliverance from the tyranny of 
Fashion. Doubtless that deliverance will come by 
slow degrees, rather than by sudden revolution. The 
habit of giving more attention to the differences that 
exist in height, complexion, and figure, and of dressing 
more with regard to one's own peculiarities than with 
regard to the prevailing modes, will work steadily to- 
wards this emancipation. 

The people who are built after the similitude of 
the round and spreading beech are ceasing to think 



1 66 BE A TEN PA THS. 

that they must dress after the pattern of the Lom- 
bardy poplar. 

Before leaving this subject, it may be as well to re- 
mind you that it is not simply the women who need 
deliverance from the caprices of Fashion. Far as 
their dress may go at times in the way of ugliness, it 
never goes so far as the dress of the men who affect 
to ridicule it. You will, in your day, see many an 
artistic attempt at representing masculine beauty ; but 

I venture to say that you will rarely find an artist of 
any merit attempting to depict it in the conventional 
evening dress of the gentleman of the period. The 

II swallow-tail " coat, with its usual accompaniments, 
peremptorily refuses to lend itself to the investiture of 
the ideal. Nor, in like manner, will you find many 
artists daring enough to preserve in marble or on the 
canvas that crowning atrocity in the attire of the fash- 
ionable gentleman of the present, the stiff, the senseless, 
the ungainly " plug " hat. A statue with that prodigy 
of ugliness on top of it would reach the height of the 
ridiculous. Its hard and inartistic lines would prove 
ruination to the masterpiece of a Titian. The ladies 
may take it for granted, that if, in their wildest craze 
for some new style in spring bonnets, they should 
ever devise anything bearing the remotest semblance 
to these awful hats of the " lords of creation," the 
monstrosity would furnish material to the comic pa- 
pers for the remainder of the century. 

Such fashions, of course, have their root in a de- 
sire to amplify the person, and give to the onlooker a 
suggestion of size and power. The philosophical 



DRESS. i by 

explanation of the " plug " hat is, that the male of the 
human species likes to make himself look tall. He also 
likes to make himself look fierce, a peculiarity which 
leads him at times to wax the ends of his mustache 
until they look quite bristling and formidable. The 
effect, however, is often as ludicrous as that of the hat. 
A certain soft-hearted and amiable young man who 
had been invited to tea by a friend, carefully prepared 
his moustache after this highly approved fashion, and 
went with his upper lip looking positively murderous, 
while the rest of his body seemed as peaceful and 
benignant as a Quaker meeting. During the process 
of the meal, he was quite disconcerted by the peculiar 
and furtive glances cast at him from time to time by 
the youngest daughter of the family. Finally he mus- 
tered up courage to ask, 

" Little girl, you know who I am, don't you ? " 

"Yes, ma'am," replied the child, following that habit 
of politeness which she had acquired at the public 
school. 

"Well," said the young man, coloring under the 
stare of the company, "what makes you look at me 
so curiously then ? " 

" ' Cause I was just thinking, my kitty's got 
smellers too ! " 

Now for a word or two as to that evil in dress 
which is probably more marked than any other, the 
evil of extravagance. Sharp lines of demarcation 
between the rich and the poor, in dress, manners, or 
anything else, are to be deprecated as foreign to the 
democratic spirit of our age and country. In a previous 



1 68 BEATEN PATHS. 

era, the aristocracy were to be distinguished always 
and everywhere by their dress ; but it is to be hoped 
that the ladies and gentlemen of the future will 
neither need nor tolerate any such badge. Indeed, 
we need have little fear that anything of this kind 
will take place. We are rapidly coming to the con- 
viction that such extravagance in dress as brings one 
into special prominence is hardly consonant with 
modesty; while, at the same time, the fact that it 
tends to absorb the thought of others upon our gar- 
ments rather than upon ourselves, is humiliating to 
our pride. Surely no woman who respects herself 
could be persuaded to wear that bonnet which is said 
to have been exposed in the shop-window of a Paris- 
ian milliner, with this sign accompanying it : " This 
bonnet to be worn with the mouth slightly open." 

The most striking examples of extravagance that 
we can find to-day are as nothing compared with 
those which were prominent a few centuries ago. The 
shoes of Sir Walter Raleigh were covered with dia- 
monds, worth in all some four hundred thousand dol- 
lars. Diamonds of an equal value decorated the 
white velvet suit of George Villiers, and were so 
loosely fastened to the garment that, by a slight 
movement of the person, they could be detached and 
allowed to fall to the ground — to the infinite delight 
of the crowd that attended the steps of their wearer. 
When we think of those aristocratic ladies and gen- 
tlemen of the past, who decked themselves in all the 
colors of the rainbow, and flashed like dazzling 
comets, in rich embroideries of gold and jewels, we 



DRESS. 1 69 

see that the day of this tinsel magnificence has gone, 
never to return. Our civilization relegates it to the 
space behind the foot-lights. And yet, when, only a 
short time ago, the newspapers chronicled the fact, 
that the wife of a wealthy New York millionaire had 
invaded Saratoga with two hundred costumes, all of 
which must be worn by herself during the short sum- 
mer season, it was difficult to repress the reflection, 
that the age of foolish display and of reckless extrav- 
agance has not completely disappeared. To men 
and women there are opened up in this world im- 
mense possibilities of rising and falling; but seldom 
do they appear more contemptible than when they 
degenerate into mere clothes-horses, brainless figure- 
heads, good for nothing but to display upon their 
persons the resources of tailors and milliners. 

Extravagance in dress is the mark of a low and 
vulgar soul. When people become conspicuous for 
squandering their means upon the body, it only indi- 
cates to the world that they have no perception of 
those higher interests to which wealth may be de- 
voted. It is to be taken for granted that where peo- 
ple have gained a perception of the advantages and 
beauties of culture, they will be more disposed to 
expend their resources upon the mind than upon the 
body. But while in many cases there may be no 
marked expenditure of money upon the dress, there 
may, nevertheless, be such an extravagant expendi- 
ture of time and thought upon it as will in the end 
prove equally ruinous to the higher interests of the 
life. The intellectual, social, and religious welfare 



I 70 BE A TEN PA THS. 

suffers through this absorption of interest upon a 
comparatively unimportant matter. The type of a 
numerous class is to be found in that young student 
in one of our seminaries, who, when asked what was 
to be the subject of her graduation essay, was so in- 
tent on other themes that she replied, "Pale blue, 
trimmed with real lace !" It is to be feared that even 
the hour of public worship loses its sanctity for many 
minds, because of their interest in examining the gar- 
ments and bonnets of the worshippers. Surely if 
there is any place in which these trivial concerns may 
be suffered to sink into abeyance ; if there is any 
place in which the part that clothes play in minister- 
ing to life should be allowed to pass from sight, 
in which plain and simple attire is appropriate, that 
place is the house of God. 

Where dress becomes a ruling passion, a main con- 
cern of the life, it impedes the way to all higher 
attainment. To borrow Dr. Holland's forcible figure, 
how can a woman avoid degeneration, when she sinks 
into becoming nothing more than her own groom ? 
A society devoted to dress is invariably marked 
by an absence of refined and ennobling instincts. 
The critical spirit is allowed to dominate everything 
else, and jealousy, envy, and back-biting supplant the 
better feelings of the heart. Surely if sinful spirits 
must grow jealous and envious of one another, it 
ought be over something more important than flounces 
and feathers. 

The cure, however, can never be wrought out on 
purely negative lines, that is, by disparaging dress and 



DXESS. I 7 1. 

preaching against it. So long as the life is destitute of 
higher aims and ambitions, questions of physical 
adornment will inevitably receive an undue amount of 
consideration. What is needed, is that men and 
women shall have high domestic, intellectual, political, 
and spiritual interests, to which such minor matters as 
those of dress may be subordinated. On the whole, 
we shall find no better advice than that which Peter 
gave upon this subject to the ladies of the early 
Christian churches. He had noticed a tendency among 
them to devote themselves almost exclusively to 
the adorning of the person. Hence he intimates to 
them that there is a higher spiritual beauty which 
should be made the main concern in their lives ; and 
he says, " Whose adorning, let it not be the outward 
adorning of plaiting the hair, and of wearing jewels 
of gold, or of putting on apparel ; but let it be the 
hidden man of the heart, in the incorruptible apparel 
of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of 
God of great price." The passage does not mean 
that Christian people are to become ascetics, casting 
aside gold and jewels and doing violence to their 
ideals of beauty, and thus making Christianity ugly 
in the eyes of the world. It means, rather, that they 
are to seek the spiritual beauty which is so infinitely 
higher than the physical. It is as if one should say, 
"Ladies, you wish to be beautiful: then do not devote 
yourselves to that beauty which can be enhanced by 
silks and gold alone ; devote yourselves rat her to that 
which manifests itself in beautiful thoughts, beautiful 
affections, and beautiful deeds." This is the highest 



I 72 BE A TEN PA THS. 

kind of beauty, the beauty that is noblest and most 
enduring, the beauty in which man shows his super- 
iority to the peacock and the woodpecker. Beautiful 
thoughts and words and actions give a higher pleasure 
than beautiful forms and complexions. The beautiful 
mind and heart exert a transfiguring power upon the 
body, and even make one unconscious in time of the 
physical defects of those in whom these higher graces 
have been fostered. Therefore this advice of the 
Apostle Peter is to be placed among the wisest things 
ever uttered on the subject of dress. 



VIII 



MANNERS. 

" * I am a gentleman.' ' I'll be sworn thou art ; 
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit 
Do give thee five-fold blazon.' " 

— Shakespeare. 

" Give a boy address and accomplishments, and you give him the 
mastery of palaces and fortunes where he goes. He has not the trouble 
of earning and owning them ; they solicit him to enter and possess." 

— Emerson, 

" Subsists no law of life outside of life, 
No perfect manners without Christian souls." 

— Mrs. Browning. 

EALOUS as we all are to be 
spoken of as ladies and gentle- 
men, it is doubtful whether 
many of us could define the 
several qualities on the poses- 
sion of which a claim to these 
titles may be founded. I can 
hardly ask who are the ladies and gentlemen of this 
modern age, without suggesting some great and radi- 
cal changes that have taken place almost within the 
memory of men now living. For the title of gentle- 
man, which is now applicable to so many individuals 
in all ranks of society, was at one time the preroga- 
tive of a limited class. This fact comes out in the 

11 




I 7 6 BE A TEN PA THS. 



etymology of the word. It is not, as might at first 
sight be supposed, a compound of gentle and man, 
but comes rather from that old Latin noun gens, which 
means, race, stock, family. The gentleman was, in 
the first instance, a man of family, that is, a man de- 
scended from people of importance. Even at the 
present day in France, the word for gentleman, gen- 
tilhomme, is restricted to signify a descendant of the 
aristocracy. But in England, and in our own country 
more especially, this limited signification has long 
been outgrown. So great has been the progress of 
democratic ideas that this title, which was originally 
applicable to the aristocracy only, may now be appro- 
priately given to any deserving son of the people. 
Following the ancient usage, we continue to speak of 
the gentleman as a man "of good breeding ;" but all 
the same, we acknowledge that there is no man in the 
land, be his parentage ever so lowly, who may not 
earn and receive that highest badge of honor which a 
republican society can confer, the title of a perfect 
gentleman. 

Whatever may be said about the faults of the aris- 
tocracy, it becomes us to remember that through them 
there has come down to us that ideal of the gentle- 
man which exercises so benign an influence in our 
lives and times. Before the rise of an aristocratic 
class in society, the gentleman, as such, was not even 
dreamt of. 

" When Adam delved and Eve span, 
Who was then the gentleman ? " 

Such is the conundrum with which the feeble lips of 



MANNERS. 177 

childhood have been accustomed to confound the 
mighty men of science. But now science appears to 
have solved the problem, and is telling such stories of 
primeval man as might well make John Milton's 
corpse grow restless in the tomb. Notwithstanding 
the engaging picture that he has furnished us in the 
pages of Paradise Lost, it is safe to say that if our prim- 
itive ancestor and his guileless consort could present 
themselves upon our streets to-day, they would be 
promptly arrested as dangerous characters by the guard- 
ians of the public peace. It is to be feared that the ladies 
and gentlemen whose acquaintance Adam had the 
pleasure of cultivating were little better than savages, 
roaming in search of food by rivers and seas or 
through the tangled fastnesses of mighty forests. 
They had the same amount of good manners as a 
hurricane or a polar bear. When they feasted, they 
discarded the embarrassments of etiquette, and helped 
themselves liberally and hastily ; and their toilet was 
of such primitive simplicity as gave the moralists of 
the time no scope whatever for descanting on the van- 
ities of dress. In all seriousness, that remote age 
appears to have been one in which the lower passions 
of human nature were turned loose, and in which 
selfishness and ferocity, gluttony and lust, murder and 
rapine, were the order of the day. The men who 
with rude weapons of pointed stone waged battle 
against the mammoth, the woolly rhinoceros, and the 
cave bear, could hardly have been, in the conscious 
scope and purpose of their lives, so far superior to 
the creatures that they overcame. 



I 7 8 BE A TEN PA THS. 

" Noiselessly as the daylight comes back when night is done, 
And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek grows into the great sun ; 
Noiselessly as the Springtime her crown of verdure weaves, 
And all the trees on all the hills open their thousand leaves ; " 

thus, silently, steadily, resistlessly, out from the 
darkness of that awful past has emerged the beauty 
and refinement of our present civilization. And the 
principal instrument in ushering in this better day 
has been the aristocracy. So long as society was all 
on a dead level, struggling incessantly to maintain a 
bare existence in this world, there was neither occa- 
sion nor disposition to cultivate bows and smiles, gifts 
and graces, and the various proprieties of modern 
civilized life. But when, above the struggling masses, 
an aristocratic class began to erect itself, a congenial 
soil was afforded for the growth of refinement, grace, 
and dignity in character and conduct. In this class 
the wealth of the community was largely concentrated, 
and with wealth there came leisure, and opportunity 
for the pursuit of the higher interests and the devel- 
opment of the nobler sentiments. Upon the aristoc- 
racy devolved the duty of playing the prominent part 
in the world's affairs. In council-chamber, at camp- 
fire and conference and festival, in pageant and cere- 
mony, through travel and converse — in countless 
ways and by varied experiences, the intellectual and 
social qualities were called into action. Thus, through 
long generations, in this class released from the ne- 
cessity of drudgery and summoned to the constant 
exercise of sagacity, tact, and decision, the savage 
qualities became eliminated, and certain feelings, dis- 



MANNERS. 179 

positions, and facilities were developed, which, in pro- 
cess of time, were recognized as constituting the char- 
acter of the gentleman. The lady and gentleman of 
that aristocratic circle gave evidence of their " breed- 
ing" not simply in their outward environment, but 
also by their graceful bearing, their careful attire, 
their sensitive features, their fine conversation, their 
carefully modulated voices, their thoughts, feelings, 
aims, and ambitions. In all those things that are now 
comprehended under the term manners, they stood at 
an almost infinite remove from that primitive savage 
out of whose loins they had sprung. 

Of course many exceptions to this rule were to be 
discovered. There were members of the aristocracy 
in whom the process of eliminating the animalism 
from human nature did not make any satisfactory 
advance. There were " gentlemen " who repeatedly 
sought a resting place under the table after the wine 
had been passed, and whose jests ran far across the 
border-line of propriety. But these cases must be 
looked upon as exceptional rather than typical. Their 
own circle regarded them with disfavor Coarseness 
was felt to be alien to the aristocratic set, and he who 
exhibited it stood in danger of losing caste. The 
nobleman had a very distinct perception of the truth 
that it was his conduct, rather than his circumstances 
or possessions, that gave him a claim to the title of 
gentleman. When King James was asked by a nurse 
to make her son a gentleman, he replied, " I will make 
him a baronet, if you will, but no power on earth can 
make him a gentleman." Notwithstanding its many 



1 80 BE A TEN PA THS. 

faults and shortcomings, it is the aristocracy that has 
given us a developed code of etiquette, that has in- 
stilled into us a fine sense of honor, that has taught 
us grace, flexibility, and tact, in our dealings with 
others, and that has quickened within us an apprecia- 
tion of the refinements and dignities of life. It was 
among this privileged class that there grew up that 
conception of the gentleman, that ideal of beauty in 
character and conduct, which is among the noblest 
treasures in our heritage from the past. 

Hence it is not surprising that when the modern world 
comes to determine who are ladies and gentlemen, it 
should go back to this old school of the aristocracy, 
and lay great stress upon the outward characteristics 
by which its members were once distinguished. Many 
things are constantly occurring to remind us that we 
are still in a period of transition, and that our demo- 
cratic principles have not yet succeeded in perfectly 
leavening our thought. Since the gentlemen of the 
aristocracy were to be distinguished by their dress, 
their manners, their wealth and leisure, from all the 
rest of the world, there are many among us who fail 
to remember the great and radical changes that have 
already taken place, and who unconsciously keep up 
the old traditions by regarding the gentleman as the 
man who has plenty of money, good clothes, and 
nothing to do. I hardly need remind you that the rem- 
nant of the ancient aristocracy which still survives, 
would be the first to repudiate these crude standards 
of gentility. 

Wealth, in our day, does not argue the posession of 



MANNERS. 1 8 1 

those nobler qualities which were once associated with 
it. Never has it been so easy for men of small desert 
to accumulate a fortune within the space of a few 
years as it is to-day. Wealth even fails to bring with 
it the leisure and opportunity for cultivating the sun- 
nier side of life, which invariably attached to it in 
former generations. In many cases the life of the 
modern millionaire is nothing but a struggle, as in- 
tense, as prolonged, as selfish, and as stultifying to 
the higher instincts, as was the life of the lowest 
drudge in centuries gone by. 

It is said that a certain French marquis, riding out one 
day on horseback, accosted in a somewhat scornful 
tone a priest who was jogging contentedly along on a 
donkey. " Ha, ha, ha ! How goeth the ass, good 
father ? " inquired the supercilious marquis. " On 
horseback, my son, on horseback!" replied the priest 
blandly. Well, that is frequently the way the ass goes 
to-day. Honesty and Merit are often compelled to 
jog along in the humblest manner, while Dr. Quack 
and the Honorable Mr. Fitz-Noodle ride out on 
parade. Wealth has long ceased to be a criterion of 
the gentleman, and men universally acknowledge the 
truth of the poet's lines. 

" Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow; 
The rest is all but leather or prunella. ' ' 

In like manner, some commit the mistake of 
attempting to distinguish the modern gentleman by 
his dress. His aristocratic predecessor was easily re- 
cognized by this outward mark. But now broadcloth 



I 82 BEATEN PATHS. 

is as common as buckram, and the thief and the har- 
lot ride forth together in kid gloves and immaculate 
attire. A few centuries ago, when good clothes were 
almost unknown outside the pale of the aristocracy, the 
tailor-made gentleman had an easy task to deceive the 
world. But to-day the sham has been exposed, and this 
elaborate creature, shorn of his honors, is curtly spoken 
of as the "gent." The world perceives that he has 
learned only the first syllable of gentlemanship, and 
dubs him accordingly. It is safe to say that Beau 
Brummel would knock in vain for admission to our 
best American homes. The very boys on the streets 
would poke fun at him. 

Another mark of the gentleman of a former age 
has ceased to be available, namely, the peculiarity of 
having nothing to do. When the aristocracy was pre- 
eminently and almost exclusively the leisured class ; 
when all the more irksome tasks of the community 
might be deputed to slaves and underlings, the gentle- 
man was to be recognized by the fact that he held 
himself aloof from labor. John Randolph's negro 
valet gave expression to the current idea when, on 
seeing a dog and a sheep churning together in Eng- 
land, he exclaimed: "Marse John, I nebber did see 
such a country as dis in all my life. Everything 
works here ; man work, woman work, child work, 
horse work, sheep work, dog work — everything work 
'cept 'tis de hog ; he do nothin'; he be de gentleman ! " 
From the fact that the gentlemen of the aristocracy 
refrained from work, it was only a step to the conclu- 
sion that work is menial, degrading, ungentlemanly. 



MANNERS. 183 

Our English cousins are still so fettered by this 
ancient prejudice that whenever they attempt to differ- 
entiate the gentleman, they draw the line at shop- 
keepers. To-day, however, men are asserting a long 
forgotten and much needed truth, that of the dignity 
of labor ; and they are emphasizing it to such an extent 
that he who does no work for the upbuilding of soci- 
ety is looked upon with suspicion. John Randolph's 
valet thought the hog the gentleman among animals ; 
but the rising generation will brand the elegant idler 
as the hog among men. A life of self-indulgence and 
indolence is now recognized as ignoble and unmanly. 
It is felt that the real gentleman will care enough for 
his fellows to work for their prosperity. The spirit 
of the age is reaching forth an ennobling hand to men 
whose clothes are covered with the marks of toil ; nor 
is it an idle prophecy to declare that the day is com- 
ing when the smutch of black across the laborer's face 
will be deemed no more of a disgrace than if it were 
a powder-mark on the face of some heroic general. 
It will simply signify to all beholders that the man 
who bears it has been contributing his mite toward 
the progress of civilization and the upbuilding of the 
race. The most significant victory of the ages is that 
which is now being won by those working classes, 
who, until the present time, have been compelled to 
take so inferior a place in the estimation of the 
world. That victory is assured ; and he is the wise 
man who anticipates it and adjusts himself to the fu- 
ture. So far from work being held to be a disgrace, 
the first criterion of the gentleman of the days to 



1 84 BE A TEN PA THS. 

come will be that he is a worker. He who does not 
work will have to forfeit all claim to the title. 

We cannot distinguish the ladies and gentlemen of 
the present by their wealth, dress, or leisure ; but 
when we attempt to discriminate them by their man- 
ners, we all feel that we are taking higher ground. 
The gentleman of the old school, with his powder and 
ruffles, his stiff and stately airs, and his elaborate 
compliments, would surely be a Rip van Winkle in 
our modern world. And yet we feel that his courtli- 
ness, his deference, and his unconscious dignity must 
have their equivalents in the gentleman of to-day. 
The form changes but the spirit is conserved. Just as, 
in the progress of the world, certain plants and ani- 
mals have been developed within some most favorable 
locality only to subsequently overspread vast districts ; 
just as that religion which was fostered and perfected 
in Palestine is rapidly disseminating itself throughout 
the earth ; so that ideal of behavior which was devel- 
oped among the wealthy and leisured aristocracy, is be- 
ing held up to the admiration and imitation of the mas- 
ses. And so general is the ambition to realize it, so 
confident is the assurance that it is being realized, 
that one of the most rankling criticisms we can pass 
upon the conduct of a fellow-man is to declare that he 
is not a gentleman. 

And surely this ambition to realize the beautiful in 
all our acts and words is deserving of the highest 
commendation. To aim at conquering our own awk- 
wardness, rudeness, and boorishness, is as noble as to 
aim at conquering an empire. " A beautiful behavior,'* 



MANNERS. 185 

says Emerson, " is better than a beautiful form ; it gives 
a higher pleasure than statues or pictures ; it is the fin- 
est of the fine arts." Great is the artist who struggles 
and succeeds in realizing upon the canvas that divine 
idea which burns within his soul ; but greater is he 
who, by patient and well-directed efforts, succeeds in 
realizing the beautiful in himself. Fortune may deny 
us wealth and culture and accomplishment, and nature 
may have given to us homely faces and forms ; but 
it is within our power so to act and live as to produce 
upon all beholders a sensation of beauty greater than 
was ever awakened by statue of Phidias or fresco of 
Michael Angelo. 

But to-day I fear we are disposed to subordinate 
the higher considerations of beauty to the meaner 
ones of utility. We think rather of the profit to which 
good manners may be turned than of their intrinsic 
worth. Our ideas are moulded after Lady Montagu's 
famous assertion, " Civility costs nothing and buys 
everything." Hence we retail anecdotes of the results 
that pleasing manners have accomplished in the past. 
Did not they win for George IV. the title of " The 
First Gentleman of Europe," although he could hardly 
write his own name, and furnished as much material 
for scandal as any historical personage in the annals 
of the English people ? Was is it not his air and man- 
ner, quite as much as anything else, that won for John 
Churchill the title of Duke of Marlborough? The 
speaker with a good manner always commands the 
attention of his auditors ; the clerk with a pleasing 
address ingratiates himself with the customer, and sells 



1 8 6 BE A TEN PA THS. 

the largest quantity of goods ; and other things be- 
ing equal, it is the maiden of finest breeding that suc- 
ceeds in effecting the speediest and most promising 
matrimonial alliance. Manner wins the day always, 
on the platform, behind the counter, or in the affairs 
of love. Whitefield's manner was so potent that it is 
said he could move an audience to tears by simply 
crying " Mesopotamia ! " Garrick, the actor, said, " I 
would give a hundred guineas if I could say ' Oh ! ' as 
Whitefield does." Fenelon was so winning in address 
that Lord Peterborough said he had to run away from 
him to prevent the French divine from making him a 
Christian. The story of John Wilkes, the English 
demagogue, reads like a romance. So repulsive was 
he in personal appearance that the keeper of a lot- 
tery office once offered him ten guineas not to pass 
the window while the tickets were drawing, lest his 
ugliness should bring ill luck upon the house. Yet 
Wilkes boasted that with half-an-hour's start, he could 
eclipse any man, however handsome, in obtaining the 
favor of any lady in the kingdom. So fascinating was 
his manner that even gruff old Doctor Johnson, after 
spending an evening with him, confessed, " Jack has a 
great variety of talk, Jack is a scholar, and Jack has 
the manners of a gentleman." And George III, who 
had previously smarted under Wilkes's stinging invec- 
tives, acknowledged that he had never met so well 
bred a Lord Mayor. 

Good manners are like keys of gold that open 
hearts and homes and pocket-books the wide world 
■over ; but a bad address is apt to nullify the noblest 



MANNERS. 187 

motives and bring the most honorable cause into dis- 
repute. Some men will ask you to join the church in 
a way that makes you wish to knock them down upon 
the spot ; while others will invite you into a saloon 
with such grace and cordiality that you have to strug- 
gle to say no. 

All that is said as to the potency of good manners 
is undoubtedly true ; but it is to be feared that our con- 
stant preaching upon this topic tends to subvert the 
very ends which that preaching has in view. For 
when the emphasis is placed upon manner, people nat- 
urally endeavor to acquire it, rather than the living 
principle from which it grows. They make the book 
of etiquette a bible, and instead of developing a beau- 
tiful manner, only school themselves into airs and affec- 
tations. The hypocrisy that lurks in all this is read- 
ily detected, and one frequently hears the criticism that 
the manners of certain individuals are " put on." The 
ass may don the lion's skin, but the ears and the bray 
reveal the impostor. The chafing of the world wears 
away any veneer at length, and the most consummate 
actor cannot always be counterfeiting nature. 

" The churl in spirit, howe'er he veil 
His want in forms, for fashion's sake, 
Will let his coltish nature break 
At seasons through the gilded pale." 

When people say that a certain individual can be a 
gentleman when he chooses, they are simply indicat- 
ing the fact that he is not a gentleman at all, but that 
he can play that role when it suits his purpose to do 



1 88 BE A TEN PA THS. 

so. One of the most caustic criticisms ever paar/ed 
upon an English statesman was put into this sentence, 
" Canning can never be a gentleman for more than 
three hours at a time." 

A man's manners should be as much a part of him- 
self as the color of his eyes or the shape of his nose. 
They ought to grow up from within, rather than be put 
on from without. Good manners must come to the 
individual as they came to the race, by a process of 
development. Away down in the heart there are the 
living germs of politeness which, with culture, will 
develop into beautiful living. This truth has been re- 
cognized by the wisest teachers of the race. Sir Philip 
Sidney declares that the essential character of the 
gentleman consists in having "high thoughts, seated 
in a heart of courtesie." Thackery asks, " What is it 
to be a gentleman ? " and answers, " It is to be honest, 
to be gentle, to be generous, to be brave, to be wise, 
and, possessing all these qualities, to exercise them in 
the most graceful outward manner." Sydney Smith 
looks on manners as nothing but " the shadows of vir- 
tues." And Tennyson puts the truth thus : 

" Manners are not idle, but the fruit 
Of noble nature and of loyal mind." 

Indeed, one might instance that highest authority of 
all, whom Dekker, the old English dramatist, entitles, 
" the first true gentleman that ever breathed," — Jesus 
Himself, who, in delineating the ideal man, places all 
the stress of His injunction on having the heart right, 
while He says not a word as to what is counted 



MANNERS. 189 

"good form" in the circle of the "upper ten." 
In acquiring a beautiful manner, the first thing to 
be done consists in determining what is that inner 
principle from which, as from a living germ, are devel- 
oped dignity and deference, a high sense of honor 
and winning and gracious courtesy. To put the truth 
in a single sentence, it is regard or respect for persons 
as such — respect for yourself as a person and respect 
for others as persons — that goes to constitute the 
character of the lady and gentleman of to-day. Our 
modern conditions give this principle a somewhat dif- 
ferent manifestation from that which it had in a 
former time ; but the principle itself remains the 
same. The democratic gentleman of to-day is recog- 
nized as the spiritual child of the aristocrat who pre- 
ceded him. 

The true lady or gentleman is always distinguished 
by a sensitive and unconquerable self-respect. In 
former days this self-regard arose largely out of class- 
distinctions which do not now prevail. The aristocrat 
who played a leading part in the world's affairs could 
not help feeling that he was somebody, and that he 
was entitled to deference from others. But in our 
modern world men and women respect themselves not 
so much for the prominent part they take in society 
as for their inalienable characteristics as men and 
women. The ground of self-respect is not the acci- 
dent of birth but the fact of humanity. 

Self-respect of this sort is among the noblest quali- 
ties that one can possess. He that has it enters into 
the spirit of the aristocratic gentleman of old, and 



1 90 BE A TEN PA THS. 

acts as if he were descended from a royal race and 
felt himself to be kingly. Self-respect lies at the root 
of all dignity ; it prevents politeness from degenerat- 
ing into puppyism. It differs in the most marked man- 
ner from self-conceit. The conceited man lays empha- 
sis on certain desirable characteristics that he con- 
ceives to be peculiar to himself — his wealth, his line- 
age, his beauty of person, his intellectual cleverness, 
his ease of manner, his culture and accomplishments. 
He prides himself on the possession of things which 
others have not, or cannot have. And so he is always 
contemptible, — a snob, a coxcomb, a braggart, a prig. 
Self-respect, on the contrary, prides itself on the pos- 
session of those things which it holds in common 
with every human being, — on the matchless and inex- 
pressible worth of simple manhood. 

He that is rooted and grounded in this respect for 
himself as a person, will manifest it in all his doings. 
Even such a trivial matter as dress will not be counted 
immaterial. A careless and slovenly attire is never 
consonant with a sensitive respect for oneself. If there 
is anything in the world that it is worth your while to 
keep clean, surely it is yourself. The lady cannot be 
tempted to wear a costly and attractive dress over 
garments that are cheap, common, or unwashed ; her 
own exquisite self-respect imperatively prohibits it 
Nor can the gentleman condescend to do anything for 
mere display. He will not dress that others may see 
his good clothes, nor will he build a house or main- 
tain an equipage for others to admire. His self-re- 
spect demands that things shall be used as the accom- 



MANNERS. I91 

paniments of himself rather than himself as the 
adjunct of things. He recognizes that in himself 
there is something worth more than clothes, carriage, 
and estates, all put together. He does the fitting 
thing at all times because it is the fitting thing, and 
not because he wishes thereby to ingratiate himself 
with the public. He cannot condescend to angle for 
compliments. 

Self-respect of this sort culminates in that sense of 
honor which has always been a mark of the true gen- 
tleman, and which effectually prohibits him from do- 
ing anything dishonest or mean. It finds expression 
in the reply of that boy who, when solicited to do 
some dishonest act on the ground that nobody would 
be there to see, replied, " But I should be there to see, 
myself." Self-respect takes offense at the barest in- 
sinuation of dishonor. When the Duke of Wellin^- 
ton was offered half-a-million to divulge some unim- 
portant state secret, the keeping of which was of no 
material advantage to the Government, he enquired 
of the individual who desired to bribe him, " Are you 
quite sure you can keep a secret? " " Certainly." 
" Then so can I," replied the Duke, bowing his visitor 
out of the room. 

Where a man has learned to respect himself simply 
on the ground of his humanity, he will naturally be 
led to respect his fellows for the same reason. In his 
dealings with others the gentleman of old was largely 
influenced by questions of rank and social position 
which do not now obtain. Sir Walter Raleigh, fling- 
ing his costly cloak into the mud for Queen Elizabeth 

12 



1 9 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

to step on, gives a typical picture of the way in which 
the courtly aristocrat conducted himself toward those 
of his own or of a higher rank. He respected his 
queen ; he did not respect his washerwoman. If in 
his dealings with those of a lower class he exercised a 
courteous manner, his politeness was prompted more 
by regard for his own position than by regard for 
them. The nobleman felt that it was incumbent upon 
him to act nobly, a principle which embodied itself 
in the law of noblesse oblige. George Washington, who 
was to all intents and purposes a gentleman of the 
old school, promptly returned the salute of a colored 
man, and explained his action by saying that he would 
not surfer himself to be outdone in courtesy by a negro. 
He thought more of himself than he did of the negro. 
The gentleman of this modern age, however, goes 
considerably farther, and respects every man for the 
sake of his manhood. As he comes into the presence 
of human beings, he feels and acts as if something 
better than dogs or cattle were before him. He in- 
stinctively adjusts himself to that immortal person- 
ality whose value is so inconceivable, infinite. Robert 
Burns voiced the modern idea when, after saluting a 
rough farmer on the streets of Edinburgh, he replied 
to the companion who reproached him for this excess 
of courtesy, that it was " not the great-coat, the scone 
bonnet, and the Saunders boot-hose " that he spoke to, 
"but the man that was in them." And true to these 
principles Burns sang with intense and fervid enthu- 
siasm those lines that have vitality enough in them to 
live on for centuries to come : 



MANNERS. 193 

" What tho' on namely fare we dine, 
Wear hoddin gray, and a' that? 
Gie fools their silks and knaves their wine, 
A man's a man for a' that." 

Out of this sincere respect for man as man come 
that deference and courtesy which have always been 
held essential to the character of the gentleman. Sir 
Philip Sidney takes rank as the model gentleman of 
modern times because, when mortally wounded at the 
battle of Zutphen, he hands the cup of water which is 
given him to quench his dying thirst, to the soldier 
who lies helpless and suffering at his side, with the 
simple explanation, "He needs it more than I." Sir 
Ralph Abercombie plays the gentleman when, finding 
under his head the blanket of a private soldier, which 
had been placed there to ease him in his last moments, 
he enquires, " Whose blanket is this ? " " Duncan 
Roy's." " Then see that Duncan Roy gets his blanket 
this very night," was the reply, and Sir Ralph died 
without its comfort. Arnold, of Rugby, is heralded 
to the world as the model Christian gentleman, in the 
words of that poor old creature whose cottage he had 
just visited : " Why," exclaimed the delighted crone, 
" he talked to me as if I were a lady ! " The Duke of 
Wellington revealed a similar spirit when he made 
room for a poor man to kneel beside him at the altar- 
rail, and whispered, " All are equal here." And Napo- 
leon at St. Helena, evidenced the feelings of a gentle- 
man, when, on meeting a laborer with a heavy bur- 
den, he stepped graciously aside from the narrow path, 
and said to his companion who seemed disinclined 



1 94 BE A TEN PA THS. 

to follow his example, " Respect the burden, Madame ; 
respect the burden !" 

Where maners are the outcome of a sincere regard 
for others, they are not likely to change when outward 
circumstances alter. The gentleman is quite as much 
a gentleman in the privacy of his own home as when 
before the public. He is as studious of the feelings 
of others when speaking to his own servants as when 
conversing with kings. To find out whether a man is 
a gentleman at heart, you have only to learn how he 
treats his wife, his children, his dependents. To dis- 
cover whether a woman is a lady, find out how she 
acts toward those whom the world regards as her in- 
feriors. Is she gracious, courteous, studious of their 
feelings ? Then she is probably a genuine lady. But 
does she delight to snub them, to mistreat them, to 
make them conscious of their inferior position? 
Then may you be certain that she is not a lady at all, 
but only some common creature whom the chance of 
the day has suddenly lifted into refined and wealthy 
surroundings. A real lady would as soon think of cut- 
ting off her right hand as of slighting a poor acquain- 
tance on the street. 

Lord Chatham gave a very apt definition of polite- 
ness by saying that it is simply "benevolence in small 
things." If you try to please and benefit others by 
being mindful of the little things that minister to their 
comfort and gratification, you will unconsciously be- 
come polite. We have the word of no less an 
authority than Michael Angelo himself, that in the 
fine arts "trifles make perfection, and pefection is no 



MANNERS. 1 95 

trifle." It is this sensitive regard for what might be 
considered minute and unimportant things that marks 
the accomplished gentleman. He takes no liberties, 
plays no practical jokes, passes no witticism at your 
expense, speaks not of his wealth in the presence of 
those who are poorer than himself, and refrains from 
urging his opinions upon those to whom he knows 
they are distasteful. Some will ask, with the best in- 
tention in the world, how it comes that you are wear- 
ing crape ; others will reveal their consciousness of 
this fact only by sympathetic tones of the voice and 
the careful avoidance of such topics as might jar upon 
you in your bereavement. 

Make it your constant study to minister to the hap- 
piness of others. Think of them rather than of your- 
self. Love will teach you the secret of a behavior 
more beautiful than that of princes. You may find 
your first attempts at politeness like your first attempts 
at walking, distinguished more for awkwardness and 
failure than for anything else. But practice makes 
perfect. Practice in the effort to adapt ourselves to 
others brings in the end that sure and sensitive tact, 
which, like the skilled hand of the accomplished artist, 
makes every trifling touch contribute to the beauty of 
the general effect. 



IX. 
SELF-CULTURE. 

" My mind to me a kingdom is ; 

Such present joys therein I find, 
That it excels all other bliss, 

That earth affords or grows by kind : 
Though much I want which most would have, 
Yet still my mind forbids to crave." 

— Dyer. 

" Learning may be got from books, but not culture. It is a more 
living process, and requires that the student shall at times close his 
books, leave his solitary room, and mingle with his fellow-men." 

—J. C. Shairp. 

" The love of study is in us the only eternal passion. All the others 
quit us in proportion as this miserable machine which holds them 
approaches its ruin." — Montesquieu. 

REAT as are the advantages of 
that intellectual training which is 
furnished by our higher schools 
and colleges, it must not be sup- 
posed that culture cannot be 
obtained outside their walls. 
The emphasis which has been 
placed on the assistance that 
others can render you in the matter of education, 
needs to be offset by laying equal, if not greater, 
emphasis on the work that each one of you can do for 
himself. Gibbon, the historian, declared, " Every man 
who rises above the common level receives two edu- 




n 






?Sii 






iii 



™ ,, r^*'' 



... 



THE YOUNG ASTRONOMERS. 



SEL F- CUL TURE. 1 99 

cations : the first from his instructors ; the second, the 
most personal and important, from himself." And Sir 
Walter Scott, following this line of thought, said, 
" The best part of every man's education is that which 
he gives to himself." In this chapter, therefore, our 
attention is to be directed to that part which each one 
of us should take in the development of his own 
mental powers. 

In dealing with self-culture, we have to consider a 
range of activity that is peculiar to man as distinct 
from the lower animals. For no lower order of being 
has the power of changing its disposition or charac- 
ter. You cannot conceive of a cat as sitting down 
and meditating thus: "I am hardly as intelligent or 
imaginative a cat as I might be and ought to be, and 
therefore I will immediately adopt means for my own 
self-improvement." The supposition is absurd. The 
lower animal takes no part in its own education. As 
nature and circumstances make it, it must remain. 
But man is never entirely dependent upon his sur- 
roundings, and possesses at all times the ability to per- 
ceive his own deficiencies, and to shape himself towards 
the realization of ideal ends. 

This is what we understand by self-culture in its 
broadest sense : it is that change for the better in the 
physical, intellectual, and moral man which he effects 
by his own agency. It includes the development of 
heart, conscience, and character, as well as that of the 
mind. Yet the ordinary usage restricts the meaning 
of the word almost entirely to the development of the 
intellectual powers. When we speak of a man as cul- 



2 OO BE A TEN PA THS. 

tured, we are not supposed to imply anything as to his 
social affections or his moral character; we understand 
culture to refer only to the increased beauty and effi- 
ciency that have been given to the intellectual life. 
For our present purpose, it will "be just as well to con- 
fine ourselves to' culture in this limited sense. 

Well, when we wish to acquire anything in this 
world, it is always a help to define to ourselves 
exactly what we desire. If, as is the fact, the great 
majority of people do not know what they wish, 
can you wonder that they do not get it ? To define 
the object of our desire to ourselves, will very prob- 
ably suggest the means by which it may be acquired. 
What, then, are we to understand by this culture 
which we are all so anxious to possess ? What are the 
marks by which the cultured mind may be distin- 
guished from all others? 

We have to do a little negative work at the outset, 
by declaring that true culture is a very different thing 
from those superficial accomplishments which play so 
prominent a part in the fashionable education of 
to-day. In most cases such conventional accomplish- 
ments are all on the surface, and are only used, like 
thin veneer, to cover up the baser quality of the mind 
beneath. A little smattering of music and drawing, a 
superficial acquaintance with the great names in 
science, art, and literature, an affectation of rapture 
over beauty in form, color, or expression, do not con- 
stitute culture. One may be able to sing and play and 
dance acceptably, and even to read French novels and 
Italian sonnets, and yet have a mind almost as un- 



SEL F- CUL TURE. 2 O I 

couth and barren as that of a savage. Douglas Jer- 
rold tells us that he once knew a man who could speak 
twenty-four different languages, but could not say a 
sensible thing in any one of them. When Sydney 
Smith was told that a few deer were essential to the 
appearance of his lawn, he tied antlers to his donkeys' 
heads, and stood them in front of the house. The 
effect of much of our modern training is not less gro- 
tesque : the antlers tower aloft with imposing grace, 
but the body and ears remain those of an ass ! If it 
is the mission of culture to turn the ass into something 
presentable, we may be sure that the transformation 
will not stop short at the ears. True culture must 
reach all the way from sole to crown ; it must go clean 
through the mind. The man who has it cannot well 
lose it without losing himself. It is not to be dropped 
off, or forgotten like some little accomplishment ; it is 
an integral part of the self, and abides forever. Cul- 
ture may be useful for dress-parade ; but its chief 
value lies in the satisfaction and enrichment that it 
brings to the life of him who possesses it. 

How, then, may the cultured mind be distinguished 
from all others ? In two ways, — by the quality of its 
intellectual taste or appetite, and by the quality and 
quantity of its intellectual products. 

If you can discover a man's intellectual appetite, it 
will go a long way toward indicating the degree of 
culture that his mind has received. What plays, poems, 
companionships, interest and delight him ? Does he 
admire a brown china dog and pass by " The Greek 
Slave ? ' Does his taste incline toward the Gospel 



2 O 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

Hymns, or toward the creations of Barnby, Dykes, and 
Sullivan ? Does he prefer " Peck's Bad Boy " to 
"Hamlet" and "The Merchant of Venice," and spend 
his nights over " Bloody Eye, or the Wild Squaw of 
the Sierras," while "David Copperfield" and "Little 
Lord Fauntleroy" lie untouched at his elbow? De 
gustibus non disputandum / You can't dispute as to 
matters of taste, but neither can you help drawing 
your inference. 

In Dante's description of his journey to the infernal 
regions, he tells us how, at one juncture, the monster 
Cerberus guarded the way, and refused to let the 
strangers pass until the poet's escort had flung a 
handful of earth into the rapacious creature's mouth. 
There are minds whose appetite is no more discrimi- 
nating than that hungry maw of Cerberus which could 
be satisfied with a handful of common dirt. But 
where culture has been received, the mind disdains 
everything that is common or unclean. Its taste has. 
been chastened to select and appropriate only those 
things that are most worth knowing. From the great 
mass of facts that are passed under its experience ; 
from that incessant mental stream which washes up 
upon the shores of consciousness all kinds of 
objects, — sand and pebbles, things unsightly and 
grains of gold, — the cultured mind selects only the 
most valuable and discards the remainder. 

We have an example of this in the manner in which 
the trained intellect seeks for truth and appropriates 
it at all costs. Even where former opinions have to 
be given up and cherished theories are involved in 



SELF-CULTURE. 203 

overthrow, the man of culture always acts as if he 
perceived that the truth is the pearl of great price, 
the most valuable of all intellectual possessions. But 
where the mind is destitute of culture, or has received 
it only in an imperfect degree, the truth is commonly 
compelled to knock loud and long before a welcome is 
accorded it, and not infrequently it is driven from the 
door with insolence and upbraiding. For, as we have 
already seen, the opinions of the average mind are 
little more than prejudices which have been allowed 
to grow up in the line of a man's own predilec- 
tions. He believes just what he wishes to believe. 
He assumes that his business is an honorable one, 
that his character is unimpeachable, that his village is 
without a peer, that his political party is invariably in 
the right and its opponents invariably in the wrong, 
that his nation is the greatest on earth, and that his 
own particular sect presents the one pure type of 
Christianity that exists upon the earth. " The narrow- 
minded man," say the Japanese, " looks at the heavens 
through a reed." That is what the uncultured man is 
always doing — forever looking at the truth through the 
narrow reeds of his own personal preferences, forever 
fastening his eyes upon some single point of the great 
firmament, and maintaining that he sees it all. Now, 
it is the mission of culture to remove these reeds of 
prejudice from our eyes that we may perceive the 
truth in its entirety, measureless and majestic as that 
infinite dome of the sky which grows lustrous with 
the light of unexplored and countless worlds. It is 
the mission of culture to cast out the demons of pre- 



204 BEATEN PATHS. 

judice from the mind, that when the truth comes 
a-knocking, it may find an open door. It is the mission 
of culture to teach men that truth is the pearl of great 
price for which they may well part with all their 
intellectual preposessions. 

Hence I say that one of the marks of the cultured 
mind is its zest or appetite for the truth. You may 
remember the story of the automatic bee, which was 
so skillfully contrived that, in appearance, movements, 
and buzzing, it could not be distinguished from the 
living prototype. When the genuine bee and the 
automato had been placed side by side upon 
the table, it puzzled even the scientists to determine 
which was which, until one of them resorted to the 
expedient of placing a drop of honey between the 
two, whereupon the live bee made straight for the 
honey, while the counterfeit continued to buzz and 
walk about as unconscious as before. True culture, 
in like manner, may always be distinguished from the 
counterfeit by virtue of the fact that it makes straight 
for the truth. Of two individuals who seem to be 
equally well informed and equally polished, he is the 
cultured man who soonest detects the truth, and re- 
linquishes his prejudices to meet its requirements. 
But where the truth is rejected, it becomes painfully 
evident that the mind has not been trained into the 
habit of selecting what is most worth keeping and 
discarding the rubbish. 

The more you compare the cultured with the un- 
cultured mind, the more clearly will you perceive that 
the great difference between the two lies rather in the 



SELF-CULTURE. 205 

quality than in the quantity of the knowledge pos- 
sessed by them. Both minds are full ; but the one is 
filled with precious material, and the other with trash. 
The one is satisfied with the petty gossip of a bab- 
bling village, while the other contemplates the story 
of the creation and the history of the race. The one 
is eager to discover what the next-door neighbor is 
doing ; the other revolves those great problems of 
thought, which, from the days of Moses and Plato, 
have been the stimulus and food of every noble spirit 
The one mind may have as strong a desire of know- 
ledge and as retentive a memory as the other ; but the 
cultured mind is ennobled above its fellow, because it 
is stored with the more excellent material. 

Raw material, however, is to the mind just what it 
is to the manufacturer. It has little value until it is 
worked up into something for use or beauty. Hence 
we have a second mark by which the cultured mind is 
distinguished from all others, namely, the quantity 
and quality of its manufactured products. The mind 
is a builder always and everywhere ; but out of the 
same materials one mind will build a hovel, and the 
other a palace. On the same soil one will grow 
weeds, and another will bring forth harvests. Some 
are but reproductions of Wordsworth's Peter Bell: 

" A primrose by the river's brim, 
A yellow primrose was to him, 
And it was nothing more." 

Others, again, find 

" Tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 



206 BE A TEN PA THS. 

One sees in the fall of an apple nothing but the in- 
cident itself, whereas a Newton, as the story goes, arrives 
through this meagre event at that great law of gravity 
which holds the physical universe together. 

Where the quality of the manufactured product is 
kept up to the standard, the quantity produced gives 
a valuable indication of the degree of culture the 
mind has received. Some think slowly and with toil ; 
others, with ease and rapidity. Some are like children 
learning to play the piano, who make mechanical 
music with great show of effort and contortion ; others 
are like the skilled musician, whose fingers, wandering 
over the keys in apparent aimlessness, draw forth the 
richest harmonies. Some minds have to be pumped 
vigorously in order to bring up the crystal stream of 
thought, while others are like perennial fountains, 
abating not for frost or drought. The finished result 
of culture is seen in those intellects that, like artesian 
wells, pour forth a constant and copious stream of 
wisdom, wit, and beauty. To this class belong the 
prolific minds of literature — Plato, Shakespeare, 
Bacon, Goethe. Of such was the mind of Jesus, 
whose rich and transcendent thought has given de- 
light and stimulus to men during all these intervening 
centuries. 

If we have now arrived at a definite idea of what 
culture really is, we may proceed to answer the prac- 
tical question that naturally arises, namely, How shall 
we train our minds so that they will instinctively 
choose the most precious materials and easily convert 
these into finished and beautiful products ? Certainly, 



SELF-CULTURE. 207 

one cannot receive culture of this kind without desir- 
ing it so intensely as to be willing to make many sac- 
rifices for its attainment. If we seek it simply for 
show, or for the gratification of our own personal 
vanity or ambition, or as an instrument in the accu- 
mulation of wealth, it is doubtful whether we shall 
ever obtain it. Until we have that disinterested long- 
ing to know the truth, which lies at the very founda- 
tion of all noble intellectual living, we are likely to 
remain blinded by prejudice, vanity, and love of self. 
But when once we perceive that culture is a valuable 
thine in itself; when we come to desire it more than 
wealth, luxury, or display, the way becomes compara- 
tively easy to us. Then every day will contain some- 
thing for our profit ; life will become a training school, 
and all its experiences will prove our teachers. In 
love or war, in work or leisure, in busy street or open 
field, the process of furnishing and invigorating the 
mind will move steadily forward. On us there is laid 
the necessity of co-operating with the Power that is 
leading us through these experiences ; but the rules 
for us to follow are few and simple. 

1. In the first place, there must be attention. In 
the ordinary experiences of life, the mind is apt to 
doze ; it must now be stirred up, and persistently kept 
awake. This cannot be accomplished without a sus- 
tained and vigorous effort of the will, though certain 
accessory measures may be found of great assistance. 
We must not overlook the fact that the mind is affected 
by bodily conditions as well as by the nature of our 
surroundings. A full habit of body may interfere 



208 BE A TEN PA THS. 

with mental brightness, in which case the old 
maxim of "plain living and high thinking" will 
be found wise and serviceable. On the other 
hand, where the body is enfeebled and the vitality is 
at a low ebb, it will generally be discovered that 
whatever conduces to vigor of health tends to pro- 
mote vigor of thought. 

Then, also, we may derive great help in forming 
this habit of attention by choosing some subject in 
which we are naturally interested. If a boy happens 
to be more partial to jack-rabbits than to vulgar frac- 
tions, he is the wise teacher who can make the jack- 
rabbit a text-book for the time being, and train the 
boy's intelligence thereby. Should you find yourself 
so interested in the latest Paris fashions that you can- 
not think for two consecutive minutes upon the age of 
Pericles, you might compromise a little by directing 
your study to the subject of woman's costume in 
ancient Greece. And if you despair of ever collect- 
ing material for an essay on the evolution of the 
horse, try your abilities at preparing a discourse on 
the evolution of the bonnet. Anything, everything, 
for the sake of riveting the attention ! You will find 
the lesson hard enough to master, even after making 
it as easy and as simple as you can. An aged clergy- 
man once advised a sleepy parishioner to take a pinch 
of snuff just before the sermon, in order to keep himself 
awake. But the layman retorted that it would serve 
equally well if the divine would put the snuff into his 
sermon. Both were right in a measure. Whatever is 
interesting naturally holds the attention ; but at the 



SELF-CUL TURE. 209 

same time, the mind is sure to weary of even the most 
interesting subjects at length, and the intelligence be- 
comes distracted, unless rigorously held to its work 
by an effort of the will. 

I dwell upon this subject because without the habit 
of attention no progress can be made in the intellect- 
ual life. Old Dr. Emmons used to say that the suc- 
cessful student was the one who could look at the 
point of a cambric needle for fifteen minutes without 
winking. That is how they made theologians in those 
old days, and the finest points were not slighted in 
theological enquiry. No less an authority than Sir 
William Hamilton declares : " The difference between 
an ordinary mind and the mind of a Newton consists 
principally in this, that the one is capable of more 
continuous attention than the other." When you can 
hold the mind steadily upon one subject, notwithstand- 
ing lassitude, fatigue, and everything that tends to 
dissipate the interest, you have mastered the funda- 
mental lesson in education. 

2. Then must come the gathering of materials, 
first of all through observation. The great majority 
of people go through the world with their eyes half- 
closed. In the primers we read, "What are eyes for? 
To see with. What are ears for ? To hear with " — 
and we straightway go and forget the lesson. You 
will not make any mistake in keeping both eyes and 
ears open as you go through this world. For the pri- 
mary means of culture are not printed books, as we 
might at first suppose, but rather the volumes that 

have never been put into paper and tvpe — the great 

13 



2 I O BE A TEN PA THS. 

book of nature, the magnificent volume of the mind 
within, and that massive one of the world without. 
He who can read this unwritten literature aright is 
above the need of printed volumes. Culture reached 
its high-water mark in ancient Greece, centuries be- 
fore the printing-press was dreamt of. Homer knew 
nothing of books, yet he wrote that immortal epic 
which became the very bible of classic training. 
Plato and Shakespeare were not bookish men, yet 
they lived the intellectual life in all its fullness and 
beauty. You may read great books, but the unprinted 
ones are always greater. If you disregard these un- 
written volumes which form the primary means of cul- 
ture, you will grow artificial and pedantic, and your 
best friend will by and by begin to excuse your lack 
of adaptability to a practical world, by whispering that 
you are a book-worm or a blue-stocking. 

You should see as much of the world as you can, 
both at home and abroad. You need to travel. You 
should, if possible, visit the great works of nature in 
which this country abounds. Spend some time at the 
sea-shore ; make a point of seeing, in the interior, the 
caves, the waterfalls, the mountains. Visit the large 
cities, the manufacturing communities, the great farms, 
the stock ranges, the wild West. Spend as much time 
as you can in the museums, art-galleries, colleges, and 
libraries. Do not neglect to hear the great actors, 
musicians, orators. Keep your eyes and ears open 
to all that is beautiful and worthy of remembrance. 
See and hear the very best. 

As you accumulate materials from the world out- 



SEE F- CUL TURE. 2 I I 

side, fail not from time to time to turn your attention 
inward, and to note that great world of thought, feel- 
ing, imagination, and desire, which like a restless sea 
goes through its ceaseless transformations. To look 
in upon the soul in its formative period, is like gazing 
upon the primitive matter of the universe at the time 
when, out of the seething chaos, planet after planet 
began to come forth in ordered beauty. You will find 
in the human soul things as beautiful and mysterious 
as any that are to be seen in nature. You will dis- 
cover there laws as fixed and unalterable as those 
that condition the physical universe. From such 
observation of the inward world you will derive pecu- 
liar benefit. For though this kingdom of the soul is 
more accessible than any other, though it costs but 
little time and no money to travel in it, though it has 
never failed to furnish delight to every diligent 
explorer, it is nevertheless the one region with which 
men seem least familiar. 

Know thyself. He that unveils his own motives and 
finds the key of his own heart, understands all peo- 
ples and discovers the secret of all history. Without 
observation of the outward world, our thought inevi- 
tably grows hazy ; without observation of the inward 
world, it inevitably becomes shallow. 

3. Along with your observation there will natur- 
ally go a considerable amount of reading. For you 
will certainly be sufficiently interested in the things 
you see to read about them. The physical scientists, 
the poets, the artists, will aid you in observing the 
works of nature ; and history will more than double 



2 I 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

your interest in the works of man. After looking at 
a mummy in the museum, you will read of ancient 
Egypt with renewed satisfaction ; and should you visit 
Cambridge, you will naturally dip into the works of 
Lowell, Holmes, and Longfellow. In the study of the 
human soul, some good work on psychology will 
answer for a guide-book ; but the master minds in fic- 
tion will be found invaluable for giving you an insight 
into motive and character. 

Thus we get at the true idea of a book. A bootc 
simply tells you how some great mind has conceived 
of nature, of man, or of God ; and the object of read- 
ing is, that there may be reproduced in your own 
mind the processes which went on in the mind of the 
author. Books should lift us to the level of those that 
wrote them, and make us see with their insight and 
11 think their thoughts after them." 

In this connection let me warn you against a mis- 
take which nearly everybody who does a fair amount 
of reading is liable to make, the mistake of supposing 
that the more you read, the more cultured you will 
become. You might as well hold that the more a man 
eats, the stronger and healthier he will grow. It is 
just as bad for the mind to read too much as it is for 
the body to be overfed. There are intellectual glut- 
tons, we must remember, who absorb more than they 
can digest, and whose minds are absolutely too full to* 
think. If you exhaust your intellectual energies in the 
primary processes of observation and reading, you will 
resemble the manufacturer who expends all his capi- 
tal on the purchase of raw material, and finds at last 



SEL F- CUE TURE. 2 I 3 

that he has none left for the running of his establish- 
ment. The mind is a factory, rather than a store- 
house ; and until the raw material is worked up 
through the processes of comparison and reflection, it 
has but little worth. The object in reading is not that 
our minds may become crammed with the opinions of 
other men, but rather that we may be aided in forming 
opinions for ourselves. 

4. Hence I insist upon the necessity of thought. 
As you see, hear, read, do not hesitate to question, 
to make comparisons, and to enquire into causes. It 
is in this way that scientists, poets, and philosophers 
are made ; and surely one can hardly make good his 
claim to culture without being something of a poet 
or a philosopher himself. You will undoubtedly do a 
great deal of bungling work at first ; but even bung- 
ling work is better than no work at all. When Her- 
bert Spencer tells of the English squire whose only 
classification of animals was "game, vermin and 
stock," we cannot repress a smile ; and yet from such 
efforts, continued and improved upon from generation 
to generation, there develops at last a Cuvier or an 
Agassiz. 

As you travel, compare other communities and na- 
tions with your own. What are the resemblances, and 
what the differences ? What are the relative points 
of superiority and inferiority ? What are the causes 
of the physical, mental, and social phenomena that 
come under your observation? If you will only keep 
your mind busy in such work as this, there can be no 
doubt that you will make intellectual progress. It is 



2 1 4 BE A TEN PA THS. 

just this process of patient thought that has led in the 
past to the most noble of intellectual achievements. 
Sir Isaac Newton declared that he had discovered the 
system of the universe "by continually thinking upon 
it." Galileo was led to discover the pendulum 
through noticing the swinging of the lamp that hung 
from the ceiling of the cathedral at Pisa. A spider's 
web stretched from one flower to another in his garden, 
suggested to Sir Samuel Brown the idea of the sus- 
pension bridge across the Tweed. 

The great geniuses of the world have been accus- 
tomed to ascribe all their intellectual triumphs to hard 
work. We very properly insist that, notwithstanding 
all their modest assertions to the contrary, something 
besides hard work has gone into the making of their 
fame and influence. But still nothing can be more 
certain than this, that wherever you meet a finished 
product of the mind, somewhere, at some time, in 
some way, hard work has been spent upon it. What 
seem to come forth as the most brilliant spontaneous 
efforts, owe their brilliancy and rapid growth to that 
subsoiling to which the mind has previously been sub- 
jected. Thinking is hard work. It is infinitely easier 
to take things for granted, than to question and com- 
pare and ponder. But the mental world furnishes no 
exception to that great law of living, that without 
hard work nothing good or valuable can ever be pro- 
duced. 

5. Last of all, as helping on the work of self-cul- 
ture, I would put writing and conversation. The effort 
to give expression to your ideas will render them 



SEL F- CUL TURE. 2 I 5 

clearer and more intense. Bacon's familiar quotation 
is here in point : " Reading maketh a full man ; con- 
ference, a ready man ; and writing, an exact man." It 
will repay you beyond your most sanguine expecta- 
tions, to devote a certain proportion of your leisure 
time to writing. Take pains in elaborating your 
style. Make it as terse, as graphic, as beautiful as 
you can. It is no uncommon thing for an author to re- 
write his manuscript a dozen times, inserting a word 
here, erasing another there, transposing the material, 
amplifying, correcting, embellishing, and making every 
possible improvement. 

In this connection, I know of nothing better than 
the habit of keeping a diary, in which one recounts 
the noteworthy occurrences of each day, with such re- 
marks upon them as may seem appropriate. A diary 
lends itself to almost any style of composition, 
descriptive, philosophical, humorous, or pathetic. It 
accommodates the most miscellaneous material — char 
acter-studies, conversations, literary criticisms, poems, 
proverbs, jokes, homilies, prayers. If you have an 
enemy, you can fulminate against him with perfect 
safety in your diary. If you read a book your diary 
will be open to receive your account of the volume 
and your criticisms upon it. If you hear Patti, Tal- 
mage, Booth, be sure to communicate your impres- 
sions of them to this serviceable volume. The per- 
iod of travel is the diary's harvest season ; if ever 
one can write, it is surely then. A diary of this sort, 
illustrated with pen and ink sketches, if such things 
are not beyond your power, would come to be valued 



2l6 BEATEN PATHS. 

by you at something more than its weight in gold. In 
after years it would probably afford you an infinite 
amount of diversion, and apart from the intellectual 
culture involved in the keeping of it, it would exer- 
cise a peculiar influence on the development of the 
moral nature ; for no man can day by day write down 
his thoughts, feelings, and desires, without realizing 
his deficiencies and making strenuous efforts toward 
amendment. 

Mind sharpeneth mind. If you can find some com- 
panion whose pursuits and ambitions are similar to 
your own, you will always have an interested listener, 
and you will derive a stimulus from the companion- 
ship such as you never could have obtained in soli- 
tude. " Live with wolves," say the Spaniards, " and 
you will learn to howl." Live with thinkers, and you 
will learn to think. Where multitudes are found asso- 
ciated in some common cause or calling, there enthus- 
iasm and achievement reach their high-water mark. 
In religion, in politics, in university life, we find abund- 
ant illustrations of this law, that a number of minds, 
working together, accomplish better results than are 
reached by the same number working in solitude. 
Reading clubs, debating societies, Chautauqua circles, 
are founded upon a philosophical principle. 

Talk about what you read and hear and see. We 
never know anything thoroughly until we have tried 
to teach it to somebody else. The effort to commu- 
nicate our knowledge to others exerts a reflex influ- 
ence upon ourselves. We may not be selfish even 
intellectually, without suffering loss. He that would 



SELF-CUL TURE. 2 I 7 

reach the highest culture must disclose the truth that 
he has found. Silence is golden, when maintained by 
him who has never felt and seen; but silence in him 
whom the truth has made free, means loss, not only to 
the world, but also to himself. 

In the development of the mind's nobler energies we 
receive an influence greater than that attained by any 
earthly potentate. The true sovereigns are those 
that rule in the intellectual realm. Kings and legis- 
lators have power over the outward life of men ; but 
the philosopher and the poet have influence at the 
very centres of their being. Strong is he who can 
command, and enforce obedience against all remon- 
strance ; but stronger is he who can win the voluntary 
obedience of men by making them think his thoughts 
and experience his desires. It is something to make 
a man do what he does not wish to do ; it is 
something infinitely higher to make him wish to do it. 

Culture is the safeguard of youth, the strength of 
manhood, and the solace of old age. The labor that 
you spend on the improvement of the mind can never 
go to waste. It abides when all else perishes. When 
the laurel drops from the brows, when the sceptre is 
wrenched from the unconscious hand, when the last 
good-by has been said to earth, culture is that one 
treasure which the mind carries with it in its lofty 

flight, 

" Unhurt amid the war of elements, 

The wreck of matter and the crush of worlds." 



X 



THE EDUCATION OF THE WILL. 

* There never was a strong character that was not made strong by- 
discipline of the will ; there never was a strong people that did not rank 
subordination and discipline among the signal virtues. Subjection to- 
moods is the mark of a deteriorating morality. There is no baser servi- 
tude than that of the man whose caprices are his masters, and a nation 
composed of such men could not long preserve its liberties." — Emerson* 

" So do the winds and thunder cleanse the air ; 
So working lees settle and purge the wine ; 
So lopp'd and pruned trees do flourish fair ; 
So doth the fire the drossy gold refine. " 

— Spenser. 




ETWEEN man and the lower 
orders of creation there is a 
great gulf fixed, in the fact that 
every human being is a free 
agent. The animal is simply 
the creature of its strongest 
impulse ; man is the creature 
and volition. The more of 

Our 

ideal man, as we picture him to ourselves, is a being 
royally endowed with will. Every worthy develop- 
ment of character is the result of the will's activity, 
and from it issues all that is great and noble in human 



of his own choice 

will-power a man has, the more of a man he is. 




DISCIPLINE. 



THE EDUCATION OF THE WILL. 22 1 

conduct. Where the will is weak, not all the beauty 
of Apollo nor all the wisdom of Minerva can com- 
pensate for the deficiency. 

The estimate that is thus placed upon the will is 
verified by the lessons that all are learning in the 
great school of life. For in the course of this earthly 
experience we are all being thrust back more and 
more upon the reserves of will-power that we possess. 
Things that the child does without any conscious 
expenditure of effort demand of old age vigorous and 
protracted exertion. Compare, for example, the phys- 
ical energies of the boy with those of the middle-aged 
man. After a certain point in life has been reached, 
every added year seems to deplete our vigor. In 
infancy and childhood the steam seems to be turned 
on at full pressure, and the amount of energy con- 
sumed by the little midget of humanity is absolutely 
incalculable. The puny baby in arms assumes the 
most exhausting tone of impassioned oratory, and 
appears to have no difficulty in keeping it up for ten 
hours at a stretch, that is to say, from nine o'clock in 
the evening till seven the next morning. The boy in 
petticoats expends as much energy in the course of 
the day as an army upon the march. He rushes, 
jumps, shouts, tears, digs, builds ; and in play, in 
noise, in general destructiveness, is active enough to 
put to shame even the industrious ant herself. Yet 
should you be indiscreet enough to invite him to romp 
with you at the close of such a day, he will come upon 
you like a giant refreshed, and the first notes of his 
strident voice will strike terror to your heart. To 



2 2 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

every aging and contemplative mind there is nothing 
more mysterious, surprising, and awful than a growing 
boy. 

Now why does not the middle-aged gentleman 
behave himself in this way ? Not simply because he 
has been taught to think that such conduct would be 
indecorous, but because he has not the slightest inclina- 
tion to indulge in it — except at election-times. Once 
he had all this tide of exuberant energy, but it ebbed 
away long ago and left him stranded high and dry 
upon the shores of will. When he would put forth 
his physical energies now, it costs him something of 
an effort ; he has to make up his mind to exercise, 
and then summon his several powers to the task. All 
through the years nature has been steadily withdraw- 
ing the surplus stores of vigor with which she origi- 
nally endowed him and compelling him more and 
more to energize for himself. Little by little, she 
refuses to do for us the things that we are so well 
able to do for ourselves, and thus thrusts us back con- 
tinually upon our resources of will. 

A similar thing is observable in the matter of 
health. The young man is permitted to do a thou- 
sand things that the elder dare not venture. Youth 
bears a charmed life, and may live on through riot 
and excess for many years. But age must be temper- 
ate, discreet, watchful. At first nature seems to main- 
tain health for us even against our own ignorance and 
waywardness. But by degrees her fostering hand is 
withdrawn, and as time passes, she seems to command 
us with increasing emphasis to assume our own guard- 



THE EDUCATION OF THE WILL. 223 

ianship and, through our independent choice and 
volition, to care for ourselves if we would enjoy her 
blessings. 

And is not the same law manifest in the intellectual 
sphere ? How readily the child learns, and how eager 
he is to understand the mysteries of nature and of 
life. He is a living interrogation point — he is ten 
thousand interrogation points all welded together into 
a lively and insubordinate mass ! He adopts the 
Socratic method on all occasions, and makes his con- 
versation fairly bristle with suggestions of the many 
themes upon which he would be pleased to receive 
your opinion. He is the most interested auditor that 
can be found — except when he happens to be at 
church. The baldest fact is precious to him, and the 
slightest discovery makes him as happy as 

" stout Cortez when with eagle eyes 
He stared at the Pacific — and all his men 
Looked at each other with a wild surmise — 
Silent, upon a peak in Darien." 

But with time this intellectual interest decreases, 
and must be kept up, if it is to be maintained at all, 
by an effort of the will. Nature so stimulates you in 
your earlier years that you learn almost in spite of 
yourself. But as life advances she withdraws her 
stimulus, and if you are to continue learning, it must 
be because you have chosen to learn and are direct- 
ing your energies accordingly. In youth nature helps 
you ; in old age you must help nature. 

This law finds illustration, also, in the working of 



224 BEATEN PATHS. 

the social instincts. It is frequently said, and with 
justice, that no one in more mature life is likely to 
form as many and as ardent friendships as in the days 
of his youth. Your precious child will swear unfalter- 
ing devotion to every little ragamuffin on the streets ; 
or if he does not do so, it will not be because he does 
not wish to. Nature has overfreighted him and made 
him positively top-heavy with friendliness, and he goes 
stumbling head-foremost into every little pitfall of 
opportunity that confronts him. But you, with your 
deliberate and well regulated habit of affection, could 
not be guilty of any similar indiscretion. Friendship, 
with you, has become more a matter of will than of 
impulse. It costs you something of an effort to make 
friends. At first nature did all the work for you, but 
now you must do it yourself. You choose your com- 
panions deliberately, and then deliberately put forth 
your energies to make them and keep them your 
friends. 

It is thus also in that highest type of companion- 
ship which earth affords. Nature gives Darby and 
Joan a good start toward conjugal felicity. Love, for 
the young couple, is easier than tumbling down hill ; 
it demands no more effort than dropping through the 
air. And I suppose it is for this reason that the young 
are always said to fall in love. But after the novelty 
has worn away, after that blissful period denominated 
the honey-moon has expired, nature grows worse and 
worse as a keeper of the peace, and the preservation of 
the conjugal felicity depends upon the cool and delib- 
erate determination of the married couole themselves. 



THE EDUCATION OF THE WILL. 225 

Or, to take an illustration from the religious life, the 
young convert whose soul is at first aflame with holy 
zeal, finds that with time his enthusiasm decreases. In 
the hot and searching noontide of toil, of struggle, of 
temptation and doubt, the wings of spiritual emotion 
are apt to drop off as did the wings of Daedalus when 
he rose too near the sun. The original spiritual 
impulse is only sufficient to last until we can get the 
will confirmed and habituated to the new order of liv- 
ing. Subsequent progress in the religious life depends 
upon the integrity and inflexibility of our own righteous 
resolve. 

Thus does nature, by slow degrees, force us to dis- 
charge for ourselves the duties that at first she under- 
took for us. The river that bore us so swiftly along 
strands us, and compels us to get out and wade. A 
Power mightier and wiser than we conducts us to that 
border-land of decision where our battles must be 
fought and our knighthood won. The friend that pre- 
ceded us into the enemy's domain, fighting all our 
battles for us gradually withdraws to the rear, and 
leaves us to continue the struggle single-handed and 
self-reliant. Our growing experience teaches us to 
reverence more and more that faculty of will by which 
alone man can meet and master the world. 

It is well for us to realize that when we speak of 
the will as being weak, we are simply following a pop- 
ular and misleading expression. The will is never 
weak ; it is always strong enough to carry us triumph- 
antly through all the emergencies of life. No man 
ever does a wrong or cruel deed without knowing at 



2 26 BE A TEN PA THS. 

the very moment of the action that he might have 
acted otherwise. He who says he " can't " do his duty 
simply means that he "won't" do it. He can if he 
will. Where a man fails of realizing his manhood 
and degenerates in consequence, the fault is always 
chargeable.to himself. If this were not so, we could 
not carry any responsibility whatever. 

And yet, as a matter of fact, there may be as much 
variation between different individuals in point of 
will-power as in point of bodily strength. One dis- 
charges duty with the ease of a practised gymnast, 
while another pulls himself up to the requisite place 
only by dint of laborious exertion. While every man's 
will is strong enough to meet his obligations, there 
are certain individuals who fulfil the duties of life 
easily, gracefully, and without any appearance of 
effort. How, then, may the will be so trained as to 
accomplish this result? 

The secret, if there be any secret about it, may all 
be expressed in one word, exercise. If you wish the 
body to grow strong and graceful, you give it exer- 
cise ; if you wish the mind to develop, you exercise it ; 
and so, if you wish the will to work easily, strongly, 
without elaborate effort and without a sense of 
fatigue, give it exercise. The exercise to be taken all 
lies in the line of bearing or doing things that are 
unpleasant. Wherever we see a man bearing or doing 
disagreeable things without any show of strain or 
struggle, we are impressed with the strength of his 
will ; and we know that to account for this strength, 
we must suppose that at some time, in some place, in 



THE EDUCATION OF THE WILL. 22/ 

some manner, exercise of the sort just described has 
been taken : vigorous and protracted efforts have 
been put forth to bear burdens or to overcome 
obstacles. 

Even when such a talent comes as an inherited race 
or family characteristic, it points back to an ancestry 
that struggled and endured and conquered. The 
sturdy conflict waged by the fathers brings to the 
children an endowment of power that is worth more 
to them than fortunes or estates. Luther, Napoleon, 
Andrew Jackson, are conspicuous examples of this 
inherited strength of will. William of Orange, dis- 
tinguished among the English sovereigns for his 
imperturbable and unswerving resolution, affords only 
an example of characteristics that are always appear- 
ing and re-appearing in his countrymen. 

He that would discover the secret of that indomit- 
able perseverance, that unconquerable resolve, that 
dogged obstinacy, which distinguish the inhabitants 
of Holland, must study the character of their country 
itself, with its sluggish rivers, its reeking meadows, 
and its low-lying coasts. There for centuries have 
dwelt a people who, night and day, from year to year, 
without a single moment's respite, have been com- 
pelled to guard themselves against an enemy more 
relentless, tireless, and unscrupulous than any foeman 
that ever wore or wielded steel — the restless, the insa- 
tiate, the unconquerable sea. Lithe and sinuous as a 
serpent, subtle and tortuous, sullen and changeful, 
shrouded in lowering mists or brilliant with the sheen 
of emerald, opal, agate, and amber, it crawls inces- 



2 2 8 BE A TEN PA THS. 

santly along every inch of shore and far up the 
margins of the rivers, seeking for a single weak or 
undefended spot through which it may force its way 
into the flat meadows and rush headlong upon the 
defenceless villages. Or again, when fierce winds 
from the pole sweep over that desolate stretch of the 
North Sea, roaring, frothing, ravenous, like a monster 
swollen and foaming with rage, it hurls its awful 
strength upon the dikes, tearing them up as with ven- 
omous fangs and making the earth tremble beneath 
its thunderous assaults. And there for centuries, face 
to face with death, lynx-eyed, resolute, grim as statues, 
undaunted and uncomplaining, thwarting the guile and 
rage of the sea, have dwelt that sturdy race whose 
silent, dogged, unconquerable resolution finds illustra- 
tion in William of Orange. Thus has that nation, 
compelled to redeem and protect its land from the 
ravages of the waves, won a hardihood, a pertinacity, 
an indomitable energy of soul, worth infinitely more 
to it and to the world than all the acres that have 
been wrested from the encroaching flood. Forced to 
face danger and to overcome difficulties, the fathers 
have been enabled to transmit to their children that 
most precious of all spiritual qualities, power of will. 
If Providence has placed you in circumstances that 
compel you daily and almost hourly to face difficul- 
ties and do things that you would a great deal rather 
leave undone, you have reason to be thankful. John 
Stuart Blackie declares, " Difficult things are the only 
things worth doing." When Cavour, the liberator of 
Italy, was told how the Sardinian infantry had to strug- 



THE EDUCATION OF THE WILL. 229 

gle with mud in the trenches, he replied, " It is out of 
that mud that Italy is to be made ! " His meaning 
was that the hardships of the soldiers' experience 
would develop such hardihood and energy as would 
eventually enable them to win freedom for their native 
land. Lord Ellenborough, when a student at law, 
was accustomed to spur on his flagging energies by 
writing three words that never failed to bring the 
requisite inspiration, " Read or starve ! " And there 
is preserved a pleasant little story of the Italian drama- 
tist, Alfieri, to the effect that on every fine day, when 
he was tempted to squander the precious hours by 
indulging in his favorite recreation of driving, he 
would direct his servant to bind him securely in his 
chair with cords, place him at his desk, and then 
withdraw beyond call for a certain length of time. In 
this way the poet was literally tied down to his work. 
The great majority of us may count ourselves for- 
tunate, in that Providence has already performed for 
us the office that fell to Alfieri's servant. By rigorous 
cords of necessity He has bound us down to the irk- 
some tasks that would otherwise remain undone. And 
by thus forcing us to the constant exercise of will, He 
would have us develop something infinitely more 
precious than all the temporal awards that wait upon 
the fulfilment of unpleasant duties — our manhood and 
our womanhood. The little newsboy who is com- 
pelled to fight his own way in the world, is likely to 
acquire more of genuine manliness than many a 
princely young gentleman who has been born into 
such genial and affluent surroundings that every 



2 30 BE A TEN PA THS. 

unpleasant obstacle is removed from his path, and 
whose very walking-stick and cigarette have been pur- 
chased at the expense of his mamma. Of course it is 
possible to have too much of a good thing ; but in gen- 
eral we may say, Happy the boy whose austere lot 
favors his upward course by adding to every common 
incentive to rise in the world the additional one of 
escaping from poverty ! Many a man is in this way 
fairly hounded on to greatness. We can hardly be 
astonished that the ranks of the world's worthies 
should be so constantly recruited from the poorer 
classes of society. 

The principle thus disclosed indicates the line along 
which home-training should be conducted. Any sys- 
tem of education which proposes to render a man 
competent to take his place and play his part well in 
this unaccomodating world, should develop the will- 
power quite as much as the physical strength or the 
intellectual abilities. No child is thoroughly educated 
until he has acquired the habit of doing difficult and 
unpleasant things with cheerfulness and facility. The 
discipline of school-life can communicate this only 
partially and imperfectly, and the greater share of the 
burden must, of necessity, rest upon the home. It is 
a part of every parent's duty to train his child into 
the practice of doing things that he does not wish to 
do. The only way to strengthen the will of the grow- 
ing boy, is to hold him steadily face to face with diffi- 
culties, until he forms the habit of mastering them 
instead of turning aside or running away from them. 
If ever you wish to find a perfect milksop of a man, 



THE EDUCATION OF THE WILL. 23 1 

pick on him who, as a child, was petted and pampered 
and permitted to shirk every unpleasant duty. One 
cannot be surprised that the sons who have been 
trained in such indulgent homes should turn out at 
last spendthrifts and rakes and good-for-nothings. 
The superficial world looks on, and professes to be 
surprised and indignant at finding children wicked 
enough to requite parental kindness with conduct so 
disgraceful ; but after the training these children have 
received, — or rather after their lack of training, — it 
would require almost a miracle to bring about a sat- 
isfactory result. 

Here, however, I must speak with caution ; for I am 
aware that once in a while you will find a father so 
bent on disciplining his child that he conceives it to 
be his solemn duty to break that child's will. I have 
no hesitation in saying that such a man is a monster, in 
cruelty or in ignorance, and ought to be dealt with by 
the strong arm of the law. Break a child's will ! You 
might far better break his arm, or his leg, or anything 
else that pertains to him! You might almost better 
break his neck, and have done with him! To break a 
child's will is to render him abject, servile, powerless. 
What the will needs is not breaking, but training and 
development. And where a parent begins to play the 
role of dictator rather than that of preceptor ; where 
he endeavors to enforce everything by the rule of the 
rod rather than by the rule of right reason, the child 
is trained into the habit of yielding always to the 
strongest force — an education very similar to that of the 
puppy dog which is taught to stand up or lie down at 



232 BE A TEN PA THS. 

the whim of its master. The only rational system of 
training is that which cultivates in the child the habit 
of being his own master — of mastering himself, in fact, 
and of standing always by truth and right, though the 
very heavens should fall about him. You need not 
therefore make the boy's life miserable by devising 
unpleasant things for him to do. Leave that to Prov- 
idence. But when Providence brings him squarely up 
against an unpleasant duty, see that you hold him to 
the doing of that duty, no matter how great may be 
the cost or sacrifice. 

A certain degree of will-power is developed by the 
training and discipline of school-life. The education 
of the intellectual faculties depends to a large extent 
on the consent and co-operation of the will ; and 
where a child resolves that he will not be taught, not 
all the teachers in Christendom can fill his mind with 
knowledge. An educated man is always one who has 
reached a certain degree of self-mastery ; he has at 
least learned to control that mental current whose 
rush of association does so much for the making of 
the intellectual life. By the power of will he can 
change this current or check it ; by the power of will 
he can lift up a single thought from the sparkling 
stream and concentrate his attention upon it. But 
when the will relaxes its effort, the stream flows on 
again, as impetuous as before. By being compelled 
to check the mental stream at times when it would be 
so much more agreeable to allow it to continue in its 
course, the will receives a degree of discipline that fits 
it to act vigorously in the affairs of practical life. 



THE EDUCATION OF THE WILL. ' 233 

Macaulay reproduces a beautiful little story from 
Ariosto, to the effect that there was once "a fairy, who, 
by some mysterious law of her nature, was condemned 
to appear at certain seasons in the form of a foul and 
poisonous snake. Those who injured her during the 
period of her disguise were forever excluded from 
participation in the blessings which she bestowed. 
But to those who, in spite of her loathsome aspect, 
pitied and protected her she afterwards revealed her- 
self in the beautiful and celestial form which was 
natural to her, accompanied their steps, granted all 
their wishes, filled their houses with wealth, made them 
happy in love and victorious in war." Thus is it with 
all those circumstances in life that necessitate the 
exercise of watchfulness, patience, energy, and decis- 
ion. At first their form seems repulsive in the 
extreme, and our inclination is to treat them with 
scantiest ceremony ; but having borne them as best 
we may, we discover in the retrospect that they have 
been, not enemies, but celestial visitants in whose 
beneficent presence the soul has reached its highest 
character and its noblest achievement. 

Whatever lifts you out of contact with the hard and 
stubborn realities of life or permits you to shirk 
unpleasant obligations, tends to cripple your power of 
resolve, and will prove in the end your greatest 
enemy. Even the mind, when suffered to take its own 
course, works toward the undermining of the will. 
Habits of revery and of novel-reading, when indulged 
in to excess, prove extremely pernicious to the higher 
interests. O what a charmer is the imagination ! It 



234 BEATEN PATHS. 

waves its wand, and you are straightway transferred 
as by magician's power, from this hard, prosaic life 
into an ideal world where everything is entrancing. 
Never were there such delights on earth as are to be 
found within the luxurious halls and dainty boudoirs of 
those castles in the air which the imagination is 
always building. And when it is some other mind that 
is providing the castle ready-furnished for us ; when, in 
other words, the creations of another's imagination 
are put within our hands in the form of some entranc- 
ing romance, the descent from the heights of fancy 
to the stern realities of fact, seems like a fall from 
heaven to earth. Not much wonder that after indul- 
gence in revery we find ourselves, like Tennyson's 
Lotos-Eaters, shrinking from the burdens and duties 
that confront us. 

" They sat them down upon the yellow sand, 
Between the sun and moon upon the shore; 
And sweet it was to dream of Fatherland, 
Of child, and wife, and slave ; but evermore 
Most weary seem'd the sea, weary the oar, 
Weary the wandering fields of barren foam. 
Then some one said, ' We will return no more'; 
And all at once they sang, * Our island home 
Is far beyond the wave ; we will no longer roam.' " 

Just here it seems to me that the Scriptures 
manifest a superhuman wisdom. Their revelations 
of the other world are such as rouse but never satisfy 
the imagination. We are continually asking questions 
about the future life to which the Bible gives no satis- 
factory answer. Its silence is phenomenal. It com- 



THE EDUCATION OF THE WILL. 235 

municates an inspiration, speaks a warning, nurtures 
a hope, but holds us steadily down to the realities of 
the present. It seems as if the imagination of the 
stupidest saint were competent to frame a more definite 
and extended picture of the future than the sacred 
writers have given. The preaching of the Christian 
pulpit goes habitually beyond the letter of the word. 
But for some reason, that word itself is reluctant to 
throw back the curtain to the full. It is a light to our 
path here rather than our path hereafter. It seems to 
fear lest, were the future fully revealed, we should 
squander the time in idle dreams and vain imagining, 
rather than go forth to meet the unpleasant duty that 
stands upon the threshold. 

But it deserves to be noticed that the imagination 
is able to form the most dismal pictures as well as 
those that are enchanting. It is possible to paint life 
in such gloomy colors that the energies become par- 
alyzed on contemplating it. There are individuals who 
render themselves weak to wrestle against fate because 
of this chronic disposition to descend into the depths. 
The "blues" are even more enervating than the 
castles in the air. The depression to which they give 
rise is frequently the precursor of insanity. To allow 
the imagination indulgent rein is sure to bring catas- 
trophe upon the practical interests of life. 

But if it weakens the will-power to indulge the 
imagination simply, what shall be said of those more 
degrading forms of self-indulgence which are every- 
where prevalent in society ? There is not one of them 
that is not fraught with peril. To indulge in harsh 



236 BE A TEN PA THS. 

thoughts and cruel words, in angry feelings and evil 
tempers, in obstinacy or extravagance, in appetites or 
lusts, in bottle or pipe — any and every form of self- 
indulgence implies that the will releases its control for 
the time being, that it takes the easier rather than the 
more honorable road, and that in consequence its 
energies become enfeebled. No man can ever permit 
himself to be the mere creature of his own impulses 
without suffering loss. From a moral standpoint, the 
dreamer, the drunkard, and the debauchee are all 
incompetent to play a man's part in the affairs of 
the world. 

What you need, and what you are sure to find- 
sooner or later, is difficulty, hardship, danger. You 
will meet obstacles so antagonistic that it will tax all 
your energies to overcome them. You will be brought 
face to face with these difficulties, morning, noon, and 
night ; but if, by long practice and persistent effort, you 
grow into the habit of overcoming them, there is not 
any real good that life can withhold from you. It is upon 
the question of what you will do for yourself, rather 
than on what circumstances will do for you, that the 
development of the future is conditioned. 

If you desire to grow strong, the first thing you 
need to possess, is some definite purpose or aim. 
The most radical distinction that exists between men 
is to be found in the fact that while some are content 
to drift with the current, others are trying to make 
for a definite point upon the shore. That is to say, 
some lives have a plan and purpose in them, and 
others have not. A purpose serves two good 



THE EDUCATION OF THE WILL. 237 

ends: it saves from mere wilfulness or caprice, 
such as one sees when a will naturally strong 
has not learned to subject itself to the rule of 
reason ; and it also provides for a continuous succes- 
sion of difficulties. Where a man is content to leis- 
urely drift with the current, he finds the course of life 
exceedingly easy ; but he who endeavors by wisdom, 
patience, and effort, to shape his life toward the 
realization of some worthy purpose, finds that the 
very purpose itself brings him up against difficulties, 
and rouses his energies to overcome them. 

Strange as it may seem, half the battle is gained at 
the start by choosing that course which satisfies the 
demands of reason, conscience, and religion. You 
need some scheme of life so noble and inspiring that 
you can concentrate every power that you have upon 
it, without danger of subsequent regrets and misgiv- 
ings. Such a plan always seems more arduous than 
any other to the self-indulgent observer ; but he who 
entertains it finds himself upborne and carried for- 
ward by magnificent tides of spiritual enthusiasm. 
Think of the utter impossibility of diverting such a 
man as Martin Luther from his course, and you get an 
idea of that strength of will which a holy and disin- 
terested purpose engenders. It is by keeping con- 
science and religion for your allies that you have the 
surest chance of growing in will-power. Aim at the 
highest things. You may not always get that for 
which you strive ; but you will always get something 
better than if you had aimed lower, or if you had 
never striven at all. 



238 BE A TEN PA THS. 

First of all you need a purpose ; then you need 
determination.. Mere purpose, of itself, accomplishes 
nothing. Sam Johnson says, " Hell is paved with good 
intentions." Good intentions are very proper in their 
right place ; but without a firm determination to carry 
them out at all costs, they are worthless and delusive. 
There are individuals who constantly boast as to 
what they could do if they were to try. But there is 
just the trouble : they never try. They dread the 
hardship, the pains, the conflict. They tell the world 
how swiftly they could run if they only wished to do 
so. But what does the world care for that ? When 
natural ability is allied to moral weakness, the world 
brands the man as weak, and passes on to those that 
are worthier. The weakest of all weaknesses is moral 
weakness. The world does not care a straw how 
swiftly a man can run if he will. To use its own 
expressive lingo, it "takes stock" only in him who* 
whether he runs or crawls, always "gets there." 

The Japanese say, " If you do not enter the tiger's 
den, you cannot get her cub." It is one thing to pro- 
pose that we shall get the tiger's cub ; but it is quite 
another thing to resolve that we will enter her den, if 
need be, in order to do it. Yet human nature is all 
the time showing itself equal to the emergency. Lord 
Lyndhurst's dictum was, " A difficulty is a thing to be 
overcome." When the elder Pitt was told that a cer- 
tain thing was impossible, he cried, " Impossible ! I 
trample upon impossibilities ! " John Foster rallies 
his forces to the work of self-mastery by asserting, 
"My soul shall either rule my body or quit it!" And 



THE EDUCATION OF THE WILL. 239 

John Hunter asks, " Is there a man who will conquer ? 
That kind of man never fails." It was a man of 
that sort who came out before the world when William 
Lloyd Garrison thundered forth in his Liberator " I 
am in earnest ; I will not equivocate, I will not excuse, 
I will not retreat a single inch, and I will be heard !" 
To men of this stamp there are no impossibilities. 
What seem like insuperable obstacles dissolve into 
thin air at their approach. 

After your purpose is established, and you have 
resolved upon realizing it, no matter what the cost, 
cultivate the habit of decision. The moment an 
obstacle presents itself, staightway attack it and mas- 
ter it. 

" Are you in earnest? Seize this very minute — 
What you can do, or dream you can, begin it. 
Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it." 

John Foster was so impressed with the necessity of 
prompt decision that he wrote a whole book upon the 
subject. Procrastination is commonly called "the 
thief of time"; but its larceny is really of a more 
mischievous kind : it is the thief of manhood. He 
that puts off till to-morrow what ought to be done to- 
day, does so because his will is weak and indolent ; 
and by thus indulging it, it only deteriorates and 
grows weaker. We may feel disposed to say to our- 
selves, 

" He that fights and runs away 
Will live to fight another day." 

But that couplet is as false as it is old. He that runs 



2 4-0 BE A TEN PA THS. 

away will be less disposed than ever to do any fight- 
ing. He that fights and runs away will live to — run 
away again the very next chance 1 he gets. The time 
to begin the battle is at the first approach of the 
enemy, and the time to end it is after the enemy has 
been routed, but not before. It is infinitely easier for 
you to conquer the small detachments that meet you 
day by day, than it is to meet in battle the entire 
force after it has been allowed to consolidate against 
you. Carlyle, following Goethe, takes for his motto, 
" Do your nearest duty." By doing our duty as it 
comes to us from hour to hour, the will gains an 
impetus, a momentum, that in time renders it resistless. 
We never know what we can accomplish, until we 
have been spurred onward by circumstances. When 
Quentin Matsys desired the hand of his master's 
daughter in marriage, and was told that he must first 
give proof of his ability, he set to work and painted 
his well known masterpiece, " The Misers," although 
he had previously despaired of ever becoming an 
artist. Michael Angelo positively refused to paint the 
walls of the Sistine Chapel, because he knew nothing 
of fresco ; but when the imperious Pope Julian refused 
to accept such an excuse, and told him that he must 
do the work, he proved more than equal to the task. 
James Freeman Clarke says : " There was a story in 
our family, which I used to hear when a boy, that 
Governor Brooks, when an officer in the Revolution, 
received an order from General Washington to go 
somewhere, when he was lying helpless from rheuma- 
tism. He replied that he was unable to go. General 



THE EDUCATION OF THE WILL. 24 1 

Washington sent back his order, ' Sir, you must go ! ' 
Then Colonel Brooks mounted his horse, and went, 
and did the required work." 

Such anecdotes indicate that there are reserves of 
power in the will which may be drawn upon to meet 
emergencies. If emergency assists in developing this 
reserve-power, it is not to be looked upon as altogether 
evil. If you have a duty to perform which can, by 
dawdling, be accomplished in an hour, create an 
emergency for yourself by saying, This duty must be 
discharged within the next thirty minutes. Energy, 
as well as determination and decision, stands in need 
of cultivation. The self-indulgent man, who works 
lazily, makes no draft upon his reserve-powers ; and 
thus, by giving them no exercise, leaves them wholly 
undeveloped. 

It is related that on one occasion, when Dr. Samuel 
Johnson and the learned little Dr. Parr were disputing 
on the liberty of the press, the former endeavored to 
assist the argument by leaping to the floor, and stamp- 
ing with his ponderous foot. But Dr. Parr, not to be 
outdone by superior size and strength, immediately 
imitated the action of his opponent. "Why do you 
get up and stamp, Dr. Parr? Why do you stamp, 
sir ? " thundered the great Samuel. To which his 
testy little antagonist retorted, "I get up and stamp, 
sir, because you get up and stamp ; and I am resolved 
not to give you the advantage of a stamp in this 
argument!" And the little Doctor was not so far 
wrong after all. For where other things are equal, 
the greater energy always carries the day, and he 



242 BE A TEN PA THS. 

that stamps most wins in the contest. " A politician 
weakly and amiably in the right," says E. P. Whipple, 
"is no match for a politician tenaciously and pugna- 
ciously in the wrong." 

But, last of all, in addition to purpose, determination, 
decision, and energy, there is such a thing as perse- 
verance, without which we can hope to accomplish but 
little. " Our glory," says Confucius, " consists not in 
never falling, but in rising every time we fall." So far 
as your life is concerned, you may be sure that you 
will break every good resolution and violate every 
plan you make ; you will fail times without number. 
Concerning this there can be no question ; the only 
question is whether, after failing, you will have grit 
enough to still press forward till success crowns your 
efforts. It was thus that Washington established him- 
self as a general, although he is said to have lost 
more battles than he won. Not after the short and 
brilliant charge, but after the long campaign, success 
is given. 

"These English," said Napoleon querulously, 
" never know when they are beaten." It was this 
indomitable obstinacy that brought them victory at 
last on the field of Waterloo. History, in handing 
down the picture of that day of carnage and doom, 
will always make mention of the unconquerable deter- 
mination of those " thin red lines " that, crowning the 
slopes above Hougoumont and La Haye Sainte, held 
the way between the French and Brussels. The artil- 
lery of Napoleon plowed them down, and his superb 
cavalry hurled its impetuous force against them ; but 



THE EDUCATION OF THE WILL. 243 

as man after man fell, another stepped forward into 
the empty space, silent, fearless, and determined. 
There, in those hearts of oak that disdained defeat, 
and that could not be made to move an inch before 
the skill, the valor, and the prowess of France, is 
revealed a power mightier than the sword — the power 
of a firm, fearless, and unflinching will — that power 
of resolution which, crushed to earth a thousand times, 
rises always from the shock, dogged and unconquera- 
ble as before. Perseverance refuses to recognize 
itself as beaten. Vanquished in a hundred battles, 
it still presses on, and comes out victorious at the end 
of the campaign. 

If under any circumstances, you ever surrender a 
worthy plan, therein lies failure. But if, though 
defeated a thousand times, you still maintain your 
plan, and work and wait for its accomplishment, 
therein lies success. 



15 



XI. 
TIME. 



" I am : how little more I know? 
Whence came I ? Whither do I go ? 
A centred self, which feels and is ; 
A cry between the silences ; 
A shadow-birth of clouds at strife 
With sunshine on the hills of life ; 
A shaft from Nature's quiver cast 
Into the Future from the Past ; 
Between the cradle and the shroud, 
A meteor's flight from cloud to cloud." 
— Whittier. 

u To-day is a king in disguise. To-day always looks mean to the 
thoughtless, in the face of an uniform experience that all good and 
great and happy actions are made up precisely of these blank to-days. 
Let us not be so deceived. L,et us unmask the king as he passes." 

— Emerson, 

S we think of Time, there comes 
before us the vision of a 
mighty river, emerging from a 
region dark and mysterious, 
and rolling noiselessly onward 
towards a shoreless sea. Boats 
and barges innumerable crowd 
the waters, some filled with pleasure-seekers, others 
laden with products of human industry, and others, 
again, funeral barges draped in black. Notwithstand- 
ing the many attempts that are made to run up the 




TIME. 247 

stream, no skill or prowess avails against the strength 
of its current, and the laughing, the toiling, and the 
mourning are borne alonor together. Such is Time — 
a river that rushes from the darkness of the Past into 
the mystery of the Future, a river that floats the vast 
interests and concerns of men upon its bosom, and 
whose swelling flood sweeps everything before it. 

A generation since we thought that the fountain- 
head of this mysterious stream was to be found at 
what then seemed the vast remove of sixty centuries ; 
but now science multiplies the millenniums till the 
imagination grows dizzy in the effort to conceive 
them. Who shall say how long ago flourished those 
extensive forests that grew rank and dense in the 
balmy air of the new-created world? Or who shall 
declare the age of these fossil remains that were 
exhumed but yesterday — vestiges of uncouth and 
mighty creatures that held high carnival by sea and 
shore before ever a human eye looked forth upon the 
landscape, or gazed wonderingly upward into the 
silent vault of heaven ? 

In various beds of gravel that mark the ancient 
and abandoned channels of rivers, are found the first 
rude implements of stone that our race devised, lying 
in close proximity with the bones of the mammoth and 
other animals whose species are to-day extinct ; but 
how long the race existed before human ingenuity hit 
upon these primitive and imperfect weapons, none 
may say. From recently discovered caves of Europe, 
where for ages the remains of human beings have 
been lying, there are now brought forth tools and 



248 BE A TEN PA THS. 

weapons of bone shaped by the patient hands of those 
early workers. Here is a lance-head, and here an awl ; 
here is a bone knife, and here a piece of mammoth's 
tusk, on which some nameless artist of that forgotten 
age has scratched a rude representation of the crea- 
ture itself. On the shores of the Baltic are to be found 
great mounds of shells, with the bones of quadrupeds 
and birds imbedded in them — relics of a race that 
feasted long before the dawn of .history ; while from 
the bottom of the Swiss lakes there are fished out 
memorials of little prehistoric communities that for 
twenty centuries went on building their houses on piles 
above the water. 

Almost every word in our current speech entombs 
the experience of souls that were making their first 
ventures in living in those long forgotten times. Our 
word daughter, say the wise men, means in Sanscrit, 
the milker, and indicates the pastoral character of 
the early Aryans, among whom the custom prevailed 
that at night-time the daughters of the tribe should 
go forth to milk the cows. 

Thus, in many ways, science is bringing home to us 
the conviction that man has existed on this planet for 
an almost infinitely longer time than we had ima- 
gined. Long before Abraham wandered beneath the 
starlit skies of Chaldaea, long before civilization began 
its course on the fertile banks of the Nile, myriads of 
men had been swept away into the realm of the invis- 
ible, and the voice of mourning had resounded 
through the forest. The men who fought the mam- 
moth and the cave-bear, the men who devoured the 



TIME. 249 

shell-fish on the Baltic coasts, the lake-dwellers of 
Switzerland, the early Aryans out of whose loins our 
modern civilization has sprung, have left not even the 
name of a single hero to grace and break the deso- 
late stretch of that forgotten past. Here, across the 
theatre of this little planet, for uncounted millenniums 
the lives of men have been drifting. Here, in that re- 
mote age before ever a stone was chipped or a weapon 
of bone was sharpened, children were born, who grew 
into manhood and womanhood, who loved and hated, 
reverenced and feared, wrought and died as we are 
doing now. Here, from the time when the morning 
stars began their chorus, the witchery of love has been 
binding hearts together, and the ruthlessness of death 
has been tearing them asunder. 

Oh, this mighty stream of time ! This strange, mys- 
terious, awful, unconquerable, insatiable stream, that 
floats us into the light for a moment, and then tosses 
us into darkness and oblivion ! Time distorts the 
beauty and paralyzes the power it has previously 
developed, plants unsightly furrows on cheek and 
brow, bends the stalwart frame earthward, blunts the 
appetite, dulls the senses, sends the intellect into 
eclipse, nauseates the human being with the exper- 
iences of earth, drops the mighty into oblivion, buries 
empires, and sweeps whole races from off the face of 
the planet. 

And yet deep down in our hearts abides the feeling 
that time is, after all, our best friend. The worst 
experience that could befall us would be to be sud- 
denly lifted out of its current, and compelled to abide 



2 50 BE A TEN PA THS. 

upon the shore and watch all that we hold dear and 
precious drifting far from us on the resistless flood. 
Even if we micrht discover that fabled fountain of 

o 

youth which Ponce de Leon sought among the ever- 
glades, its waters would prove a bane to us rather than 
a blessing. To be compelled to abide in any one 
experience, while friends and companions passed on 
from stage to stage, would be reckoned the severest of 
misfortunes. How tame, how intolerable would life 
become, if it were shorn of that variety which the 
progress of time alone can give ! 

Instead of quarreling with the current in which we 
find ourselves drifting, we are rather to accept it with 
rejoicing. Just as the tourist on the Rhine is carried 
forward from scene to scene, finding in each some new 
interest and delight, so man, travelling between birth 
and death, finds at every step of his journey some open- 
ing beauty, some new and precious privilege. Time, 
after all, is only another name for opportunity: and 
never does it seem baneful except to those who have 
slighted the opportunities it has given. When the 
current has carried us beyond what seems to have 
been the main chance of our lives, and we awake to 
realize that it is too late for us to take advantage of 
this chance, the rush and force of the river that sweeps 
us forward against our will, seems to be an evil. No 
man ever takes a retrospect of life without exclaim- 
ing again and again, "Too late!" Every stage of 
our journey has its own peculiar set of privileges, 
which do not reappear at any subsequent part of the 
course. Opportunity lost, is lost forever. 



TIME. 



251 



Childhood opens up to us a series ot most gracious 
opportunities, not one of which is appreciated at the 
time. In this period of beginnings, life receives the 
trend that determines to a large extent its subsequent 
career. Many a man has expressed the wish that it 
were only possible for him to retrace his course and 
be a boy once more. The desire is not an idle or 
frivolous one. If we could but live our lives over 
again, with our present appreciation of those oppor- 
tunities that have gone never to return, should we not 
live more wisely ? But now it is too late. The day 
of opportunity is past. Youth comes but once in a 
lifetime. Never again can we be boys and girls. 
Never again can we become children within the old 
home, there to be nurtured and fitted for a birth into 
this larger world of trial and responsibility. The past 
falls more and more to the rear. The river rolls for- 
ever toward the future. 

School-life is only another name for opportunities 
from which we are carried all too rapidly. The stores 
of knowledge that are then acquired invariably prove 
a mine of wealth for the enrichment of the after life. 
The training and discipline received by the diligent 
scholar bear most powerfully upon the happiness and 
efficiency of his future. But who is there that is not 
carried past this region with eyes blind to the peculiar 
value of the privileges it affords ? Not one child in a 
thousand reflects upon the relations of the education 
he is receiving to his after career, or realizes the urg- 
ent necessity of improving the present opportunity. 
But by and by the region in which these opportunities 



252 BE A TEN PA THS. 

for education abound is past; and then, thrust forth 
into the world with a mind imperfectly developed and 
a memory unstored, we seldom fail to perceive our 
mistake. Some such experience comes to all of us. 
We cannot revisit the old school-house of our child- 
hood, without a sigh for the bright and happy days 
that flew so quickly by, bearing their treasure of unim- 
proved opportunity along with them. We cannot 
make a retrospect of life without experiencing a pang 
of regret for the waste, the folly, the ignorant profli- 
gacy of our wayward and intractable youth. 

After we have passed the period of school-life, time 
brings us to another region in which opportunities of 
a different order are presented. We are called to 
make a choice among the various lines of business, 
and to prepare ourselves for that particular industry to 
which we propose to devote the remainder of our days. 
At first, opportunities are so many as to seem prac- 
tically numberless ; there are a thousand different lines 
of business, any one of which we may make our own. But 
when once the choice has been made, the superfluous 
opportunities steadily withdraw themselves, until at 
last the possibility of choosing passes away from us 
altogether. At one time it was possible for you to 
become almost anything you wished ; but now you are 
a physician, say, of ten or twenty years' standing, and 
the probabilities are all in favor of your remaining a 
physician to the end of your days. That swiftly flow- 
ing stream of time has borne you beyond the region 
where opportunities for selecting industrial pursuits 
abound. 



TIME. 253 

Look, again, how this principle finds illustration in 
the formation of our friendships. Far back along 
the years, it was possible for us to establish compan- 
ionships of almost any character ; but having once 
entered into intimate relations with others, our free- 
dom of action became steadily curtailed. To wrench 
ourselves from the social circle to which we have be- 
come accustomed, is like attempting to uproot the 
full-grown tree. There is a time in every life when 
transplanting is not a difficult matter ; but many a 
poor fellow finds, in the effort to amend his ways, that 
the greatest obstacle to his reform lies in dissociating 
himself from those unworthy friends who, in the for- 
mer days of heedlessness, were admitted to his fel- 
lowship. 

One may speak with even greater emphasis of that 
most intimate type of friendship which is cemented 
in the bonds of matrimony. No other form of com- 
panionship can exercise such a powerful influence upon 
the development of life. To the man marriage means 
much ; to the woman it means everything. When you 
consider its bearings upon the happiness, the .-moral 
growth, and the usefulness of the future, surely the 
most critical occasion in the career of two human 
beings is that on which, amidst the most sacred and 
hallowing associations, each vows before God and the 
world to love and cherish the other until death. And 
yet, solemn and awful with responsibility as is this step, 
what important undertaking in life is there on which 
so little thought and caution are bestowed ? In far 
too many instances falling in love means a leap in the 



254 BEA TEN PA THS - 

dark — a kind of spiritual gymnastic that is not always 
attended with the pleasantest of consequences. Before 
the final step is taken, there is a period of compara- 
tive freedom, wherein the power of choosing a com- 
panion for life may have fullest exercise ; but when 
once the marriage-knot has been tied, the age of 
opportunity ceases, and that of necessity is ushered in. 
Thus time carries us beyond the period of mating and 
marrying ; and those who have slighted their oppor- 
tunity by choosing foolishly or sinfully are compelled 
to abide by their decision. 

Last of all, we notice how time bears us from one 
region of opportunity to another in the development 
of the individual character, and especially in the for - 
mation of those habits that constitute this character 
and give expression to its fundamental principle. 
There is a period in every man's experience when it is 
possible for him to select and acquire any habit that 
may appeal to him as worthy or desirable. But 
this region of opportunity is not an extensive 
one. Whether a habit arise through a definite and 
conscious moral choice, or whether it come of itself, 
it tends to attain a strength before which eventu- 
ally the most imperious will is prone to yield. Some 
men are bound with chains of iron, and others with 
chains of gold ; but all are bound. Whenever we 
endeavor to struggle against and amend the habits 
already formed, we are made to realize how far behind 
us lies the golden age of opportunity. Time has 
carried us beyond the region w T here new habits are 
acquired with ease, and has brought us to another 



TIME. 255 

stage whose privilege consists largely in the strength- 
ening and consolidating of the habits that we have 
already chosen. There comes to all of us a period 
when, though we recognize some habit of ours as a 
bad one, we hesitate to expend the moral energy requi- 
site to uproot and destroy it. 

Thus in every retrospect of life, we are made aware 
of privileges that have been slighted and that will 
nevermore return. This mighty current in which we 
find ourselves, carries us so swiftly forward that we 
never dream how transient is our opportunity until it 
is gone forever. The spring-time of life gives place 
to summer ; and when the autumn comes at length, 
the period for sowing lies far behind us, and we are 
compelled to reap according to the wisdom or folly 
with which we have planted. 

It is a most solemn thought to which such a survey- 
as this introduces us. Just as our after career brings 
into judgment the life of the home and the school, 
conferring rewards upon those who have embraced 
their opportunities, and executing penalties upon 
those who have slighted them ; just as each subse- 
quent stage of this earthly life constitutes a judgment 
upon the stage that preceded it ; so will eternity bring 
into clearest view the folly or the wisdom, the idleness 
or the earnestness, of our conduct here on earth. And 
it is fair to presume, that as the opportunities for 
home training, as the opportunities for the discipline 
and instruction of the school, as the opportunities for 
making the most critical choices of life vanish away, so 
also shall we be ultimately carried beyond that region 



256 BE A TEN PA THS. 

in which the chances for repentance and the formation 
of a new moral character abound. Never does time 
seem so terrible as when it bears men beyond their 
day of grace, and leaves them to cry throughout the 
unending years, " Too late ! " 

But to those who make patient effort to improve 
their opportunity, time presents a different aspect, and 
is always gracious. There is hardly any beneficent 
work that it will not accomplish for him who does 
his best. It brings development always ; and the 
physical, the intellectual, and the moral powers 
expand and ripen under its influence. Time turns the 
babe into a boy, and the boy into a man. Time trains 
the careless eye of the child into habits of accurate 
observation, matures the judgment, chastens the imag- 
ination, and enriches the speech. Time perfects the 
practical efficiency of men, giving strength, facility, 
and precision. Time enables us to get rid of our 
bad habits, and to grow up into all that is holy and 
pure and good. Time brings fortune and favor, 
power and usefulness, peace and prosperity along 
with it. 

He who desires to make the most of himself and of his 
life, must learn to co-operate with time. It takes time, 
quite as much as energy and industry, to accomplish 
any worthy undertaking. In this busy and aspiring age, 
the tendency is toward impatience. We try to do every- 
thing with a dash. We travel by steam and conduct 
our correspondence by lightning. Our consuming 
desire is for short cuts and quick methods. The news- 
papers teem with advertisements of schemes by which 



TIME. 257 

a fortune may be acquired in the course of a few 
months. Every profession is beset by quacks, who 
pretend to affect cures, culture, and salvation on short 
notice. Health with three doses ! German in two 
weeks ! Music in one lesson ! Holiness in the twinkling 
of an eye ! Short cuts are the craze of the age. 

Our impatience is contagious. Our children imbibe 
it from their earliest conscious moments. The boy 
can hardly wait till manhood, before he begins to lay 
claim to a man's privileges and prerogatives. The 
youth finds it exceedingly galling to go through the 
long course of study requisite for the development of 
his mind, and wishes to plunge at once, all unprepared 
as he is, into the full tide of the world's affairs. The 
clerk apparently cannot understand that if he is mak- 
ing steady progress in his business or profession, he is 
sure to reach a high position eventually We all want 
success at once, and are apt to grow despondent when 
it does not immediately appear. Where our fathers 
were content to amass a small fortune by forty or fifty 
years of unremitting industry, we are ambitious of 
achieving the same result in a single decade. So we 
have young men of twelve with cigars in their mouths, 
young ladies with beaux at thirteen, and languid 
gentlemen of twenty-one, who have gone through life's 
varied experiences, and stand ready to substantiate 
the statement of Ecclesiastes, " Vanity of vanities, all 
is vanity ! " 

Do not be afraid to take time for the execution of 
any worthy purpose. Life is long : you can afford to 
wait. The best things grow slowly. Mushrooms 



258 BE A TEN PA THS. 

spring up in a night, but oaks thrive through centur- 
ies. A three year old horse can be put to a plow ; 
but a three year old child is good for nothing but to be 
put to bed. God has evidently intended that human 
beings shall develop gradually. If you have not the 
strength of an ox at thirteen, you need not fancy that 
your constitution is undermined. If you cannot write 
Shakespearean dramas at twenty, that is not to be 
taken as a proof of imbecility. The more infant prodi- 
gies we meet, the more suspicious do we become of 
them as a class. Precocity is something to be shunned. 
The fruit that ripens early, rots soon. Body, brains, 
morals, stimulated under hot-house methods, are far 
from satisfactory. The mincing little lady of twelve, 
who is introduced to us as Miss Something-or-other, 
and who has learnt to smirk so sweetly and bow so 
prettily, will probably be detected using slang at 
seventeen and resorting to physical violence to gain a 
point. I have no faith in boy-saints. If they do not 
die, and get into the Sunday-school books, they live 
to get into the penitentiary. Give us a boy that is a 
boy, with awkward, shambling, disjointed ways — a boy 
with a large margin for development, and a habit of 
filling up that margin in a leisurely and almost imper- 
ceptible manner — and the day will come when even 
his sisters will be proud of him. 

There are no short cuts to knowledge. " There is 
no royal road to learning." There is no limited 
express in the intellectual world, that will carry you 
through to the desired point without delays. The 
drudgery of study demands time. Good thinking 



TIME. 259 

cannot be done with lightning rapidity. Wrong views, 
partial and one-sided ideas, may come like a flash ; 
"but there will always be something morbid and un- 
sound about them. Ripe, rounded, reliable ideas 
demand a long summer of the intellectual life for 
their perfecting. It takes time to understand the 
world ; it will take eternity to understand God. 

How about business ? Alonzo Cano completed a 
beautiful statue in twenty-five days ; but when his sordid 
patron disputed the price, desiring to recompense the 
artist at so much per day, " Wretch !" cried the sculp- 
tor ; " I have been at work twenty-five years, learning 
to make this statue in twenty-five days." When Dr. 
Lyman Beecher was asked how long it had taken him 
to prepare his sermon on the Government of God, he 
replied, "About forty years, sir." And Sir Joshua 
Reynolds, being questioned as to how long it had 
taken him to paint a certain picture, answered, " All 
my life ! " It takes time to make a painter, a preacher, 
or a poet, worthy of the name. After years of prep- 
aration have been spent upon any particular line 
of industry, one may seem to do difficult and beauti- 
ful things with apparent ease. Henry Ward Beecher 
could go into his study late on a Sunday afternoon, 
select a text, and prepare and preach a sermon that 
should immediately receive recognition as one of the 
masterpieces of pulpit eloquence. But he accomplished 
this feat only because, in the long years preceding, he 
had spent time in accumulating facts, experiences, 
thoughts, and illustrations. His mind was a reservoir, 
always kept full by patient industry, and needing 



2 60 BE A TEN PA THS. 

only to be tapped to give forth a copious stream. 

If you would live happily, you must be prepared to 
spend time on the matter of your own enjoyment. The 
busy, bustling, overburdened man, who is always on 
the rush, cannot be expected to find much pleasure by 
the way. You may ask the pedestrian . how he has 
enjoyed his walk through the forest; but you would 
never think of putting such a question to one who had 
traversed a little patch of woods in a footrace. We 
must take life more leisurely than we do, if we would 
find pleasure in it. We ought to have more frequent 
holidays. We should allow a larger margin for the 
gratification of our individual tastes and predilections. 
Where a man is compelled to spend all his hours in 
sleeping, eating, and toiling, he becomes a slave. One 
cannot enjoy himself while trying to live as a pack- 
mule. We should make a study of adorning and 
beautifying these lives of ours, by rendering them as 
delightful as possible. Time for social intercourse,, 
for study, for strolling through the woods or by the 
shore, for poetry, music, and religion, is not put to 
waste. There is an elegant refinement of living that 
none know, save those who make for themselves leis- 
ure to prosecute its cultivation. 

It used to be supposed that this world, with all its 
wealth of beauty and contrivance, was formed by the 
creative flat in the short space of six days. Science 
now reveals the utter inadequacy of this conception, 
and teaches that the days spoken of in Genesis must 
be regarded as ages of vast and indefinite extent, 
rather than as short periods of twenty-four hours' 



TIME. 26l 

duration. The method which God adopted in the 
creation and perfecting of the physical universe is that 
by which He works to-day in perfecting the spiritual 
condition of His creatures. "The mills of God t grind 
slowly." We repeatedly come upon calculations as 
to how soon the world would be converted to Chris- 
tianity if every follower of Christ would but add one 
new disciple to the ranks during the course of every 
twelve-month. In this way the church would double 
its membership with every year, and the millennium 
would soon appear. Such calculations may do good 
in the way of stimulating Christians to increased 
exertion ; but they certainly do harm through produc- 
ing a feverishness, a restlessness, a dissatisfaction with 
present methods of work, and a disposition to run 
into sensationalism. Philanthropic work, Christian 
work, work that aims at the perfecting of men, must 
take time for its realization. Moral reforms are not 
to be wrought out in the twinkling of an eye. By slow 
degrees, by more and more, they go forward to their 
triumph. I have no more expectation of seeing the 
world Christianized during the next decade, than I 
have of seeing this American continent all peopled 
to-morrow. Short cuts in religion and morals are as 
unsatisfactory and unprofitable as short cuts in any- 
thing else. 

If, now, we are thoroughly convinced of the truth, 
that time is essential to the realization of any worthy 
purpose, it may be well for us to look at the corre- 
lated truth, that time alone can do but little. We must 
co-operate with it. Those who have simply learned 



262 BE A TEN PA THS. 

to wait, without having discovered the necessity of 
planning and working for themselves, are sure to come 
to disappointment. 

Finding ourselves in this mighty stream that carries 
us onward so precipitately from year to year, our 
great problem is how to utilize its force in advancing 
all our interests. Until we form the purpose of mak- 
ing time contribute to the attainment of some definite 
end, its volume will continue to roll along without any 
benefit to us. Here is the stream : what do you pro- 
pose to do with it ? What do you wish to acccomplish 
with this life of yours that is slipping so rapidly 
away? To what end will you devote your time? 
This is indeed the question of questions, and on the 
right answering of it turns the prosperity of the 
future. 

I need hardly intimate that there are numbers of 
our fellow beings who have given to this question a 
most unworthy answer, and who, notwithstanding the 
immense amount of enterprise, ingenuity, and industry 
they exhibit in utilizing the force of the current, 
might almost better have allowed it to run forever to 
waste. There is an industry that may bring to a man 
no permanent benefit, allowing him to go out of the 
world as poor as when he entered it. We scorn the 
Emperor Domitian for forsaking the interests of his 
great empire to perfect himself in the sport of killing 
flies ; but what shall be said of those who forsake the 
highest and noblest interests that any human being 
can cherish, simply that they may perfect themselves 
in industries or accomplishments that are of no per- 



TIME. 263 

manent advantage. Whosoever attempts to utilize 
time for aught but the highest ends, will live long 
enough to discover his mistake. 

Having determined to put time to some worthy 
use, our next duty consists in the formation of some 
plan by which the various interests of life may be so ad- 
justed to one another as to contribute to the realization 
of our main purpose. How much time shall be given 
to work ; how much to play; how much to study and 
to social entertainment ; how much to works of charity 
and religion? If you would utilize the force of the 
current, you must learn to distribute its energy 
aright. A wise and well considered plan prevents 
the minor affairs of life from encroaching upon its 
main interest, and serves to economize time itself. 
Without a plan, trifling matters are apt to monopolize 
the attention ; and at the conclusion of every separate 
duty or diversion, many valuable moments will be lost 
in considering what we should do next. The savage 
has no plan of life, because he has no appreciation of 
the value of time ; but the civilized man cannot afford 
to be without it. 

Our difficulty consists not so much in forming plans, 
as in carrying them out. No individual ever makes 
extended plans for the future, without being com- 
pelled to modify them, or even to change them entirely. 
Our knowledge of what time has in store for us is too 
vague for us to be able to decide just what we shall do 
or leave undone. We cannot tell what a day may 
bring forth. Every plan of ours should make allow- 
ances for the new opportunities or the unforeseen obsta- 



2 64 BE A TEN PA THS. 

cles that the future may develop. We must make hay 
while the sun shines. It would be foolish to attempt 
shingling the barn in the midst of a thunder storm, 
even though we might find this duty indicated on our 
plan with all the emphasis that capitals could give it. 
It would be equally foolish in us to refuse utilizing those 
golden moments that are apt to come so unexpectedly 
upon us all. If at this instant the stream of thought 
is flowing with force and lucidity, it would be wasteful 
to lay down the pen, even though the next hour has 
been apportioned to reading. We are all so dependent 
on circumstances, that we must be prepared to consult 
them, and to take advantage of every prospering tide. 
But within certain limits we may reduce our lives to 
system ; and we shall find that the effort to do this 
results in a decided saving of time. He that goes 
about his work in a systematic manner comes into line 
with the system of the universe, in which, from the 
smallest atom to the mightiest planet, all is orderly. 

To put off till to-morrow what should be done to- 
day, is to let the # present opportunity pass by entirely 
unimproved. So forcibly has this truth impressed 
itself on the mind of John Ruskin, that in his study 
there stands a great block of chalcedony, with the 
word To-Day deeply engraved upon it — a perpetual 
reminder to this accomplished author of the necessity 
of "buying up the opportunity." 

" Happy the man, and happy he alone, 
He who can call the hour his own, 
He who, secure within, can say, 

'To-morrow do thy worst, for I have lived to-day.' " 



TIME. 265 

When Washington's secretary, Hamilton, attempted 
to excuse his dilatory habit on the ground that his 
watch did not keep correct time, the General replied, 
" Then you must get a new watch, or I must have 
another secretary ! " So punctual was John Quincy 
Adams that the members of Congress used to set their 
watches by the moment of his appearance in the 
House ; and on one occasion the Speaker refused to 
call the body to order, on the ground that, though the 
clock pointed to the hour, Mr. Adams was not in his 
seat. A moment later he arrived, when it was dis- 
covered that the clock was really a little fast. " Every 
moment lost," declared Napoleon, "gives an oppor- 
tunity for misfortune." It is the men who are prompt 
in fulfilling every duty that find the stream of time 
bearing them steadily forward toward success. Nel- 
son declared, " I owe all my success in life to hav- 
ing been always a quarter of an hour before my 
time." 

A pathetic account is given of the way in which the 
late Prince Napoleon met his death. He had joined 
the English army in the Zulu war, and was one day at 
the head of a squad of cavalry outside the camp. The 
situation was extremely perilous, and one of the com- 
pany said, 

"We had better return. If we don't make haste, we 
shall surely fall into the hands of the enemy." 

" Oh," said the Prince, "let us stay here ten minutes, 
and drink our coffee." 

Before the ten minutes had passed, a band of Zulus 
came upon them, and in the skirmish the Prince was 



266 BE A TEN PA THS. 

killed. His mother, when informed of the facts, 
declared in her grief: 

"That was his great mistake from babyhood. He 
never wanted to go to bed in time, nor to rise in the 
morning. He was always pleading for ten minutes 
more. When too sleepy to speak, he would lift up his 
little hands and spread out his ten fingers, indicating 
that he wanted ten minutes more. On this account I 
sometimes called him ' Monsieur Ten Minutes.' " 

Next to system and punctuality, I would emphasize 
the value of dispatch. Men are like machines : there 
is a certain maximum speed to which each individual 
may press forward with safety ; but after this has been 
attained, greater speed is apt to prove injurious to 
both the man himself and the work that he is endeav- 
oring to accomplish. Yet few are the individuals that 
ever reach this highest momentum. The majority of 
us are disposed to dawdle, and find that we work a 
little better under pressure from without. A little 
forcing and hurrying from circumstances, and the 
energies become roused to carry the work forward as 
speedily as possible. 

Men in whom the habit of dispatch have been fos- 
tered, -walk with a quick step, make rapid and decided 
gestures, speak with a clear, clean-cut accent, and work 
quickly, but not feverishly. The amount that some 
of these individuals can accomplish seems almost mar- 
vellous. Their momentum carries everything before 
it. They appear to be the busiest men in the world, 
and yet they can always find time for something more. 
And the world is not slow in finding this out. It is the 



TIME. 267 

busiest lawyer in the place that we prefer to consult, if 
we have a case that demands time and thought ; it is 
the busiest physician that we call to our bedside on 
all critical occasions ; and it is the busiest merchant 
in the city that we seek when some new philanthropic 
movement needs an advocate who can carry it for- 
ward with success. The man of energy is always 
ready for the new opportunity as soon as it presents 
itself. 

The value of minutes is a lesson that needs to be 
impressed on the minds of both old and young. Mr. 
Gladstone, who by diligently utilizing his time has 
become an authority on Homeric literature and on 
topics connected with religion, as well as a statesman, 
gives his secret in these words : " Thrift of time will 
repay you in after-life with a usury of profit beyond 
your most sanguine dreams, while a waste of it will 
make you dwindle alike in intellectual and in moral 
stature beyond your darkest reckonings." If we can 
but take care of the minutes, the hours will take care 
of themselves. This river that you are trying to util- 
ize is all made up of drops : let not a single drop go 
to waste, if you would improve your opportunity to 
the full. 

The visitor to the United States mints is astonished 
at the precautions there taken to save every particle 
of the precious metal. The floors are covered ^with a 
fine lattice work, which from time to time can be 
removed, when the minutest fragments of silver or 
gold that have fallen through the interstices and have 
apparently been lost in the general dust, can be rescued 



268 BE A TEN PA THS. 

and utilized. So should we seek to save every tri- 
fling fragment of our time ; for though each may be 
small and inconsiderable in itself, in their aggregate 
the fragments amount to something precious and 
serviceable. 

It is astonishing how much work may be stowed 
away into these odd moments by anyone who will 
make a protracted and persistent attempt to improve 
them. Henry Kirke White became proficient in Greek, 
while walking to and from the office in which he was 
engaged. William Cobbett mastered the English 
grammar and wrote a treatise on it, during the frag- 
ments of time that he could snatch from his routine 
work as a soldier. George Grote wrote his masterly 
History of Greece in the hours that he could spare 
from his business as a banker ; and Henry Ward 
Beecher tells how he himself read through Grote's 
lengthy work in the moments utilized for this purpose 
while the courses were being changed at dinner. 
Douglas Jerrold, while employed in a printing-office, 
rose at dawn to his studies, and returned again to 
them at night after the labor of the day was over. In 
this way he had studied Shakespeare through and 
through by the time he was seventeen years of age; 
and at length he attained a culture and scholarship 
that would put to shame the great majority of those 
who have enjoyed the privileges of a university course. 
Elihu Burritt carried his Greek grammar around with 
him in his hat, and while heating the irons at his forge, 
would place the book against the chimney, until little 
by little its contents had been mastered. The moments 



TIME. 269 

wasted by any man of middle age would, if they had 
all been faithfully improved, have made him a master 
in almost any line of scholarship. 

A young man once asked Baron Rothschild to tell 
him the secret of success. " I'd rather tell you the 
secret of failure," was the Baron's reply. "Why they 
fail, seems to be a mystery with most young men. 
Here is the receipt. One hour a day with your news- 
paper ; one hour a day with your cigarettes ; one hour 
a day with your toilet, and — my word for it — the first 
position you obtain will be the best you will ever 
have." The waste of three hours a day in idleness, 
in petty indulgences, or in trifling employments, is 
sufficient to ruin the brightest of prospects. 

With this lesson as to the necessity of economizing 
our moments, I must bring this chapter to a close. 
After time comes eternity ! You feel that ; everybody 
feels it. Perhaps one of the reasons why we are so 
prodigal of time is, that in our heart of hearts we 
know there is really no end to it. The stream has its 
rise somewhere for us ; but it flows on and on forever. 



XII. 
A SMALL FORTUNE. 



" This yellow slave 
Will knit and break religions ; bless the accurs'd ; 
Make the hoar leprosy ador'd ; place thieves 
And give them title, knee, and approbation, 
With senators on the bench." 

— Shakespeare. 

"Seek not proud riches, but such as thou may est get justly, use 
soberly, distribute cheerfully, and leave contentedly ; yet have no abstract 
nor friarly contempt for them." — Bacon. 

" Give me neither poverty nor riches : 
Feed me with the food that is needful for me : 
Lest I be full and deny thee, and say, Who is the Lord ? 
Or lest I be poor and steal, 
And use profanely the name of my God." 

— The Prayer of Agur. 

XTREME views are always to 
be deprecated. Men are liable 
to fall into either of two mistakes 
when they attempt to set forth 
the truth concerning riches, that 
of over-estimating them, and 
that of belittling their value. 
The minister is apt to speak of money as if it were 
something to be scouted and despised ; the man of 
the world speaks and acts as if it were the one thing 
needful. Wisdom takes the intermediate course 







C/5 [ 
- I 



3 
o 







< 



A SMALL FORTUNE. 273 

between these two extremes of error, and gives pre- 
ference to a fortune large enough to be serviceable, 
but not large enough to become a burden. 

If we ask what benefits riches confer, we have 
simply to picture that state of society in which they 
are unknown ; and we perceive at once that to take 
away from men the things that have a money value, 
would plunge them into savagery. Wealth is the basis 
on which the shapely edifice of our modern civiliza- 
tion has been established. If the desire of wealth 
were to be eradicated from the human heart, and the 
race should become so indifferent to it as to squander 
their present resources, society would inevitably lapse 
into a barbarous and disorganized condition. The 
love of money constitutes that one common interest 
which holds society together. 

On the other hand, if the love of money were to 
become the prevailing motive in human conduct, the 
world would rapidly deteriorate ; science would 
perish, literature and the arts would decay, benevo- 
lence would become impossible, and morality would 
degenerate into common prudence — in short, the entire 
social and religious life of men would be over- 
turned. It is because we preserve higher loves and long- 
ings than the desire of wealth, that civilization becomes 
possible and permanent. The miser and the spendthrift 
are, on this view, the two elements in society that 
work for its disintegration and ruin. They are 
anarchists in fact, if not in name. 

But as we are all more concerned with the personal 
than with the social aspects of this subject, it will be 



2 74 BEA TEN PA THS - 

best for us to pass at once to the relations that wealth 
sustains to the peace and prosperity of the individual. 
If we can define the functions it discharges in the up- 
building and enrichment of life, we shall perceive all 
the more clearly its peculiar limitations. That wealth 
does play a prominent part in ministering to the well- 
being of men, it would be preposterous to deny. The 
indiscriminating denunciations of money that are 
sometimes heard, are false and foolish. One might as 
well seek to disparage health, brains, genius, or any 
other of those great and precious gifts that the 
Creator has placed at man's disposal. 

To begin with the lower interests, the physical, we 
may enquire how far wealth can benefit men in pre- 
serving their normal adjustments with the material 
world, and at what point it ceases to be of service. 
And since health is the one word that describes the 
ideal physical life, the problem before us consists in 
stating the relations of wealth to health. 

Money does much for the physical man. It feeds 
him, clothes him, gives him a comfortable dwelling- 
place, allows him to choose one of the less hazardous 
employments as his business, supplies him with the 
best medical skill in sickness, and permits him to 
travel in search of health, should he ever be so un- 
fortunate as to lose it. But beyond this its power 
ceases. Money cannot purchase immunity from the 
wreck and ruin that old age works upon the physical 
constitution. Money cannot make the blind eyes see 
again, nor restore the mutilated limb to symmetry 
and strength. And when death comes a-knocking, it 



A SMALL FORTUNE. 2J$ 

takes no heed of carvings and escutcheons, but enters 
alike the halls of the rich and the hovels of the poor. 

Good health — who has it ? Does not your obser- 
vation support the statement that the best health in 
the world is to be found among the middle classes? 
Hygeia, goddess of health, chooses neither hut nor 
palace for her dwelling-place, but makes her abode 
among those who have wealth sufficient to give them 
a reasonable share of life's comforts, yet not sufficient 
to free them from the necessity of daily work. Poverty 
hungers, gnaws a mouldy crust, shivers in the cold, 
sleeps in cellars. Poverty, in squalor and rags and 
discontent, grows wan and weak through fever and 
famine, and fights a losing battle with disease. But 
on the other hand, those that live in opulence, idleness, 
and luxury, become a mainstay of the physician. So 
far as health is concerned, a small fortune seems to 
furnish the best conditions for realizing it in its per- 
fection. 

A similar state of affairs is presented when we look 
at the intellectual . life of the different sections of 
society. The highest types of intelligence belong to the 
middle classes, rather than to either of the extremes. 
The great novelists, orators, poets, philosophers, 
scholars, statesmen, and soldiers of the world, come 
generally from the class that is neither conspicuously 
rich nor conspicuously poor — the class that is poor 
enough to be spurred on to industry, but not poor 
enough to be galled and hampered and trodden down 
in the struggle. 

Pegasus loathes a harness. The besetting sin of 



•276 BE A TEN PA THS. 

the literary worker is indolence. Nothing can furnish 
him with so strong and steady an incentive towards 
work as the necessity of providing for the constantly 
recurring wants of the natural man. An American 
author declares that the love of money is the root of 
all literature. Poverty drove Horace into poetry, and 
poetry has given him a name and an influence for all 
coming time. Poverty led Cervantes into the entranc- 
ing gardens of romance, and stimulated the imagina- 
tion of Sir Walter Scott into constructing for the 
world those immortal masterpieces, the Waverley 
Novels. There is probably no genius gifted with "the 
power of kindling his own fire," who will not develop 
a hotter and brighter flame when the incentives of 
poverty are added to his own native impulses. 

Lord Thurlow, Chancellor of England, being con- 
sulted by a parent as to the means by which his son 
mieht secure success at the bar, advised as follows : 
"Let your son spend his own fortune, marry and 
spend his wife's fortune also, and then go to the bar. 
There will be little fear of his failure after that." 
Northcote was asked in regard to an artist who had 
just returned from a tour in Italy, "Will he not make 
a great painter?" "No, never!" "Why not?" 
"Because he has an income of six thousand pounds a 
year." Greatness is not developed in the lap of ease 
and luxury. 

But we must remember, that where poverty ceases 
to stimulate, its tendency is to suppress and extinguish. 
Where men are kept down to the level of the lower 
animals, and are compelled to spend their time and 



A SMALL FORTUNE. 2JJ 

strength in providing for the needs of the physical na- 
ture, the intellect grovels and starves. Utter destitution 
presents an almost insuperable obstacle to the devel- 
opment of the mental powers. Once in a while a boy 
may begin life in a humble log cabin, and end it as 
master of the White House ; but he accomplishes this, 
only as he breaks away from the limitations that the 
log cabin imposes, and affiliates with that world of 
culture which is so far removed from the restraints of 
poverty as to have time and means for gratifying the 
higher tastes and aspirations of the soul. The style 
of life represented by the log cabin, is not that in 
which intellectual activity is best stimulated and 
fostered. Martin Luther was a peasant's son ; but if 
the wealth of others had not furnished him with a 
larger experience than the collier's hut afforded, he 
would, in all probability, have remained unknown to 
fame. The ideal condition for mental growth is that 
in which one gets all the incentives of poverty without 
its embarrassments, a state that belongs peculiarly to 
the middle ranks of society. 

To prosecute our enquiry further, let us ask in 
which class is to be found the highest development of 
the moral and religious nature. Certainly not among 
the wealthiest members of the community. When a 
conspicuously rich man is conspicuous for his piety, 
the world stares in surprise at the unusual phenom- 
enon. Bacon calls wealth the baggage, or impedi- 
menta, of virtue. "It cannot be spared nor left 
behind," says he, " but it hindereth the march." The 
road to perdition is made terribly easy for the sons of 



2J% BE A TEN PA THS. 

the millionaires. Society relaxes its wholesome 
restraints in their case. What would be branded as 
infamous in the poor, is, when practiced by them, 
complacently designated as "wild oats." Too promi- 
nent to be consigned to oblivion, too well-born to be 
excluded from the drawing-rooms, too respectable to 
be sent to prison, they are suffered to run through 
their courses of prodigality, drunkenness, and sensu- 
ality ; and by the time their names have become by- 
words, they propose to the sweetest little lady in the 
land — and are accepted ! Of course the union of 
Beauty and the Beast is always a nine days' wonder. 
But so long as the Beast perceives that he can buy 
Beauty out and out for ten thousand a year, he is not 
apt to mend his ways. 

There are exceptions to this rule ; it would be a 
strange thing if there were not. There are young 
men of wealth and position, both in this country and 
abroad, whose habits are irreproachable, and who are 
a standing credit to the society in which they move. 
It is sufficient to note that these cases are everywhere 
recognized as exceptions. The law is, that affluence is 
not favorable to the highest moral and religious 
development. 

But indigence, on the other hand, offers an unprom- 
ising field for the cultivation of the virtues. This is 
not to say that the poor man may not be virtuous ; 
for God's noblemen are sometimes clad in rags 
and dwell in garrets. I simply note the fact that the 
extreme of poverty is a hindrance rather than a help 
to virtuous living. Look at our lar^e cities, where 



A SMALL FORTUNE. 279 

vice seeks the slums, and finds in them its most con- 
genial retreat. It is not in Belgravia nor on Fifth 
Avenue that the most brutal crimes are committed. 
What can be more moving to our sympathies or 
more humiliating to our pride than the story of how 
human beings are, by poverty, degraded almost to the 
level of beasts.; of how they swarm in stifling dens 
and tenements, without provision for the commonest 
decencies of living ; of how they lose self-respect and 
ambition, and turn doggedly toward a future whose 
horizon is not brightened with a single ray of hope ? 
With the wolf always at the door ; with dirt and dis- 
order always present in that single vile room that he 
is compelled to call his home, what wonder is it that 
the weary laborer turns to the gilded saloon around 
the corner, and strives to find in its glitter, its conviv- 
iality, its cup of mirth and oblivion, a brief respite 
from his living death ! 

What wonder that the poor man comes to feel in 
time that society, with its brains, its capital, its organ- 
ized power, is all against him ! He knows that the 
man who steals a loaf of bread will be sent to prison, 
while the man who steals a railway or a silver-mine 
may be sent to Congress. He knows that the man 
who forces another to give up his money on the high- 
road is called a robber, while the man who, through 
some gigantic monopoly, forces a whole community 
to disgorge from its earnings, is called a merchant- 
prince. With such desperate philosophy as this, 
hearts are ripened and hands made ready for the per- 
petration of crime. 



2 8o BE A TEN PA THS. 

My object, however, is not to state a social prob- 
lem, but simply to indicate that, as the world is con- 
stituted, the best sphere for the development of the 
higher spiritual nature is to be found neither at the 
top nor at the bottom of the social strata. And I 
have chosen, in that home of poverty, the one who is 
least affected by its harsh conditions, the husband and 
father. But if there happen to be daughters there, 
the path to vice becomes terribly alluring, while the 
path to virtue is filled with thorns. 

But turning now to another phase of the subject, 
we may enquire in which rank of society the greatest 
amount of happiness is to be found. Is it not in the 
middle class, among those who have enough money 
to lift them above hardship, but not enough to entail 
upon them care and anxiety ? No argument is needed 
to prove to you that extreme happiness and extreme 
poverty are seldom found together. Dr. Johnson de- 
clared : " When I was running about this town a very 
poor fellow, I was a great arguer for the advantages 
of poverty. Sir, all the arguments which are brought 
to represent poverty as no evil show it to be evidently 
a great evil. You never find people laboring to con- 
vince you that you may live very happily upon a 
plentiful fortune." The poor are reduced to servi- 
tude by their necessities and are ruthlessly ground un 
der by the exigencies of life. To the poor man you cai 
hold out no hope of freedom and happiness, save a«, 
you set before him the prospect of becoming in time 
more or less wealthy. 

Every young man, therefore, is ambitious to acquire 



A SMALL FORTUNE. 28J 

money. The ambition is an honorable one, a wise 
one, and one whose tendency is to call forth the 
greatest energy and skill that men possess. The de- 
sire of wealth serves incidentally to develop men in 
many ways, intellectually, socially, and practically ; 
and they who strive to suppress it, little realize what 
evil they are endeavoring to accomplish. 

Those who entertain this ambition, however, are 
liable to fall into the mistake of supposing that as 
wealth increases, happiness also will increase along 
with it. The poor man can hardly realize that the 
power of money to confer happiness is subject to 
many limitations. The wealthiest individual is rarely 
the happiest. If you were asked to point out the 
happiest men in the community to-day, you certainly 
would not choose the millionaires. The typical mil- 
lionaire is frequently quite as much of a slave as the 
typical beggar. The cares of riches are apt to infest 
him. The anxiety of managing a large fortune de- 
tracts from his peace. As the Turks say, " He who has 
many vineyards has many cares," or, to quote another 
of their proverbs, "A big head carries a big ache." 
When John Jacob Astor was congratulated on his 
princely residence and told that he ought to be happy 
in such a house as that, he exclaimed, "Happy ! Me 
happy !" as if such a thing as happiness had been 
dropped altogether out of his calculations. 

Horace Mann says, " All above a fortune is a mis- 
fortune." When you think of the way in which most 
of the moneyed men in this land are compelled to 
toil, of how they are forced to sacrifice personal and 



282 BE A TEN PA THS. 

domestic comfort to their business interests, of how 
the finer sentiments and nobler aspirations are smoth- 
ered under the incubus of wealth — when you think of 
all their deprivations and of that heavy burden of 
anxiety which they must needs carry day and night 
without cessation, you can easily understand how even 
the most poorly paid clerks in their employ may be 
happier than they. Such men become the slaves of 
their fortunes, serving the interests of wealth, instead 
of making wealth serve them. The most arduous 
professional life that any one can aspire after is cer- 
tainly that of the professional millionaire. No little 
nurse-girl, wheeling some overgrown and peevish child 
along the boulevards, is ever so anxious and cumbered 
with her charge, as is that man whose mission in life 
consists in taking care of an overgrown fortune. 
When Stephen Girard was at the very height of his 
prosperity, he wrote these words to a friend: "As to 
myself, I live like a galley slave, constantly occupied, 
and often passing the night without sleeping. I am 
wrapped up in a labyrinth of affairs, and worn out 
with cares. I do not value a fortune. The love of 
labor is my highest motive. When I rise in the morn- 
ing, my only effort is to labor so hard during the 
day that, when night comes, I may be enabled to sleep 
soundly." 

There is a story to the effect that a king once met 
a stable-boy and enquired what was the boy's occupa- 
tion, and how much he received as wages. " I work 
in the stable," replied the boy, "but I get nothing 
except my victuals and clothes." " Be content," was 



A SMALL FORTUNE. 28.3 

the response of the monarch ; " that is all I receive 
myself." And how much more than this does any 
sovereign receive for the arduous work of governing 
his realm ? Some time ago two Americans were dis- 
cussing John Jacob Astor's millions, when one asked 
the other if he would be willing to take care of the 
millionaire's property for nothing more than his board 
and clothes. " No ! " was the answer ; " do you take 
me for a fool?" "Well," replied his companion, 
" that is all Mr. Astor himself gets for taking care of 
it; he's 'found,' and that's all. The houses, the ware- 
houses, the ships, the farms, which he counts by the 
hundred, and is often obliged to take care of, are for 
the accomodation of others." " But then he has the 
income, the rents of all this large property, five or six 
hundred thousand dollars per annum." " Yes, but he 
can do nothing with his income but build more houses 
and warehouses and ships, or loan money on mortgages 
for the convenience of others. He's ' found,' and you 
can make nothing else out of it." 

The poet Pope enforces the limitations of wealth in 
one of his didactic couplets : 

" What Riches give us let us then enquire: 

Meat, Fire, and Clothes. What more ? Meat, Clothes and Fire. ' ' 

When we look at the things that bring enrichment and 
delight to our lives, we see that the great majority of 
them are such as are never displayed in the markets 
and cannot be purchased for money. Meat, fire, and 
clothes can be bought ; but love, esteem, and culture 
are not for sale. If you enjoy good health, sound 



284 BE A TEN PA THS. 

sleep, and hard work ; if in relatives and friends 
you have fountains of affection that are always 
available ; if you have learned to appreciate 
what is beautiful in nature, glorious in history, 
and great in literature ; if you are living in such 
sympathy with Heaven that its ministrations uplift 
you in your times of despondency and strengthen you 
for your hours of toil, then are you princely in your 
command of all those resources that go toward mak- 
ing life worth the living. No amount of money can 
ever supply you with these elements or compensate 
you for their loss. Having them, you may well e/t- 
claim with the poet : 

" I care not, Fortune, what you may deny: 
You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace; 
You cannot shut the windows of the sky, 
Through which Aurora shows her bright' ning face ; 
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace 
The woods and lawns, by living stream at eve. 
Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, 
And I their toys to the great children leave : 
Of fancy, reason, virtue, naught can me bereave.' 1 

Another fact is worthy of note, namely, that (he 
consciousness of being rich depends more upon the 
mind than upon the pocket-book. Wealth in itself is 
not sufficient to lift any individual above the sense of 
want. It rather multiplies wants in the most amazing 
manner. The more we get, the more we desire ; so 
that without the exercise of self-restraint, w r e become 
an easy prey to avarice and ambition, and 'are ren- 
dered miserable even in the midst of great possess- 



A SMALL FORTUNE. 285 

ions. Every man feels poor who has not as much 
money as he wishes. If you have the least doubt of 
this, you may easily verify it by circulating a subscrip- 
tion-paper for some benevolent object, when you will 
be amazed at discovering how many people there are 
in the world who plead the limitations of poverty. 

The true way to feel rich is not so much by amass- 
ing a tremendous fortune as by putting a curb upon 
our own desires. It is of self-restraint that the feel- 
ing of prosperity is begotten. When Diogenes went 
to a country fair, and observed the ribbons, and the 
mirrors, and the fiddles, and the hobby-horses, and the 
various other nick-nacks that are always to be found 
at such places, he exclaimed, " Lord, how many things 
there are in the world, of which Diogenes hath no 
need ! " He felt rich, though his personal possessions 
were but few. It was the same individual who, when re- 
quested by Alexander the Great to demand a favor, 
asked the conqueror of the world to stand from be- 
tween him and the sun, whose light and warmth he 
was at the time enjoying. The sun, to be sure, can 
do more for our happiness than the mightiest of con- 
querors, though there are but few who, like Diogenes, 
are wise enough to perceive it. 

With a moderate income, such as will suffice to sup- 
ply food and clothes and fire, and to furnish us with 
leisure and opportunity for enjoying the highest 
things, our chances of happiness are much greater than 
they would be with a fortune footing up into millions 
"A man's life," said the wisest of men, "consisteth 
not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth." 



286 BE A TEN PA THS. 

When young men lay their plans not simply for a 
competence, but for a superfluity of this world's 
goods, one of the most prominent reasons urged for 
so doing, is the vast amount of good that money will 
accomplish. That wealth will do an almost infinite 
amount of good, is set forth as an axiom. And yet, 
so far as moral and spiritual good is concerned, I will 
venture to question the assumption. Money alone has 
never done any good deed in the whole course of 
human history. It is just as powerless in itself as a 
sword would be without an arm to wield it. The forces 
that do good in the world are men ; and after they have 
accomplished that good thing which the world has 
needed, the question of their poverty or riches sinks 
into insignificance. The names of those who minister 
to the intelligence, the happiness, the virtue of the 
world, are seldom conspicuous on the tax-lists. No- 
body asks how much Demosthenes or Isaiah or Paul 
was worth. Nobody thinks of measuring the influence 
of Gladstone or Herbert Spencer, of Tennyson or 
Phillips Brooks, by their wealth. Who cares whether 
Socrates and Shakespeare, Faraday and Wellington, 
James Watt and George Stephenson were poor or 
rich ? It is their brains and hearts, their courage and 
skill, rather than their riches, that have left the race 
their debtor. Into the making of these men money 
has undoubtedly gone, and contributes in this way to 
their usefulness, just as sunlight and spring rains and 
bird-songs contribute to it. Money has helped them 
in their onward course because they have possessed a 
secret more valuable than that sought by the alchem- 



A SMALL FORTUNE. 287 

ists of old, the secret of transmuting the baser gold 
into something nobler. They may even have used 
wealth as raw material in the working out of their 
benevolent purposes ; but it is the mind, the charac- 
ter, the personality, that has accomplished the good. 
I would have you draw such a sharp distinction be- 
tween the power of money and the power of manhood 
that the two may never conflict in your thought and 
effort. If you start out to be men, and to influence 
the world in that way, there is infinite hope of your 
success. But if you start out to be rich, and to influ- 
ence the world through your riches, there is no hope 
for you. Washington Gladden says, "The crowd is 
always more ready to worship the golden calf than to 
honor the prophet ; " and perhaps he is right. But 
this is very far from saying that the calf can accom- 
plish as much good as the prophet. Many a young 
man makes the mistake of thinking that in order to 
wield the highest influence in this money-loving gen- 
eration, he must make an effort to combine the 
golden calf and the prophet in the same individual. 
Time always demonstrates the folly of such a course ; 
for the calf eventually swallows the prophet, and the 
combination becomes all calf. That is to say, he who 
starts out to win great riches under the plea«of attain- 
ing influence and usefulness through them, is led in 
time to drop the idea of usefulness altogether out of 
his calculations. If you wish to be useful in the world, 
set your eye straight on usefulness, and do not keep 
squinting all the time at riches. You cannot serve 
God and Mammon. 



288 BE A TEN PA THS. 

Now, when a man starts out with the idea of being 
useful to society, how much of a fortune is he likely 
to accumulate ? Not a great one, in all probability, 
and yet enough to lift him above want. For as 
society is constituted, a fair reward is commonly re- 
ceived by all who do their best to serve the world 
through any honorable industry. One man makes 
shoes for his fellows, and another builds houses for 
them, and another conducts commercial enterprises ; 
and all receive a compensation according to their 
services. The law is, that if a man continue to do 
good in the land, he will stand in no danger of star- 
vation. It is generally the man who shirks work, and 
endeavors to get something from the world without 
giving any adequate return, that comes to failure 
at last. 

A small fortune, therefore, like neat clothes and 
gentlemanly manners, is a good letter of introduction 
to society. It usually has equivalents in character 
and service. The virtues are associated with it. It 
implies that its possessor is comparatively free from 
those infamous habits that lead to recklessness and 
extravagance. It stands for skill, for enterprise, for 
industry, for economy and thrift. It is taken to sig- 
nify that the man who owns it has worked long and 
steadily and to good effect. It is an expression, in a 
rough way, of the amount of service he has rendered 
to the world. Poverty is hardly to be looked upon as 
a badge of honor except among the politicians. It 
seems to warn the world in the plainest manner that 
there is something of worthlessness in the man to 



A SMALL FORTUNE. 289 

whom it attaches. An excessively large fortune, on 
the other hand, can hardly be said to prejudice the 
world in our favor, since it excites a suspicion that its 
possessor has not been quite as scrupulous in his un- 
dertakings as the ten commandments require. 

Thus far money answers simply as an introduction ; 
but it is the man behind the money that carries the 
influence. It is only the man himself that can lift the 
world into higher thoughts, purer joys, and more 
earnest purposes of living. He will be the object of 
its curiosity, and it will study him and measure him 
with most patient scrutiny. His influence will be 
worth just what his character is worth. If his vote 
can be bought for a glass of bad whiskey at election- 
times, or if his honesty can be overthrown at the 
expense of a " nickel " in making change, his influence 
will count for just that sum. There are many men in 
this world who have a bank-account footing up into 
the thousands and an influence that is worth exactly 
half-a-dime. Their fortune draws attention to their 
own intrinsic worthlessness, "just as the light of the 
glow-worm that shows it to be a grub." 

Where the world finds that a man thinks more of 
his money than of his manhood, its takes him at his 
own estimate, and gives him influence accordingly. It 
will do things for his money that it would never think 
of doing for himself. For his money it will wash his 
clothes, and feed him, and see that he is provided with 
a house. For his money it will dine him and wine 
him and give him the best seat in the synagogue. For 
his money it will pat him on the back, call him a fine 



2 90 BE A TEN PA THS. 

fellow, and bow the knee to him. But it will do all 
these things for his money, and not for himself. And 
after he is dead and gone, it will weep for him with 
five-cent tears, and gobble up his fortune with a thou- 
sand-dollar appetite. 

No, my friend. If you wish to do good in this 
world, it is yourself rather than your riches that must 
do it. It is as sure as fate, that in the three score 
years and ten of this mortal pilgrimage, the world 
will turn you round and round, examine you on every 
side, search you through and through, and declare you 
bankrupt or solvent, not by the money that is in your 
purse, but by the virtue that is in your heart. Your 
influence is that which flows into the world from your- 
self; and never delude yourself into supposing that it 
can reach society from any other quarter. 

So, while you accumulate wealth, guard well that 
treasure of manhood which is so far above money in 
its worth, that treasure of manhood which even this 
world, rude, ignorant, time-serving, money-lusting as 
it is, has come to value higher than rubies. God has 
made you to do something better here on earth than 
simply to acquire a fortune. If ever the interests of 
money and manhood seem to conflict, stand by your 
manhood. When men sneeringly intimate that every 
man has his price, and attempt to weigh culture, vir- 
tue, and usefulness in the scales, as if they could be 
bought like sugar and salt ; when honor stands below 
par in the market, and premiums are put upon ras- 
cality and fraud ; when derision, failure, starvation, 
confront him who would be true to the higher princi- 



A SMALL FORTUNE. 29 1 

pies of his nature, stand by your manhood. If you 
must fail as a money-getter, never permit yourself to 
fail as a man. 

Where men fail financially, and yet preserve their 
honor and integrity, the world may speak of the 
event as a going-down in life ; but it is really a going- 
up — up in character, up in influence, up in the esteem 
of the world eventually, up in that way of God 
which leadeth unto everlasting life. 



XIII. 

MAKING AND SPENDING. 



There are but two ways of paying a debt : increase of industry in 
raising an income, increase of thrift in laying it out."— Carlyle. 

" A man may, if he knows not how to save as he gets, keep his nose 
all his life to the grindstone, and die not worth a groat at last. A fat 
kitchen makes a lean will." — Franklin. 

" The true thrift is always to spend on the higher plane ; to invest 
and invest, with keener avarice, that he may spend in spiritual creation, 
and not in augmenting animal existence."— Emerson. 



E that knows the world can 
point out many instances in 
which the love of money has 
proved a serious detriment to 
success. It is as dangerous as 
any other form of love that the 
heart of man can cherish. It is, 
as the Apostle has said, " a root of all kinds of evil." 
Avarice is one of the most ruinous, as well as one of 
the meanest of vices. The desire of wealth may grow 
into a fierce flame, in which every noble sentiment 
and every generous affection turns to ashes. No man 
is safe who puts a higher estimate upon riches than 
the Divine Being Himself accords them. 





GOING TO MARKET, 



MAKING AND SPENDING. 295 

That God does value wealth as a means of promot- 
ing the higher interests of the race, the explicit state- 
ments of Scripture most clearly reveal. The very fact 
that the Bible has so much to say upon the subject of 
riches, armies something. Gather together all that it 
teaches about wealth, and you have enough material 
for a score of sermons. Why does the Bible contain 
so many injunctions concerning the right use of 
money, if the saints are not to possess it ? Who can 
use aright what he ought not to have at all ? 

Does some one object that the Model Man, whose 
life is set forth in the Gospels, was so poor that He 
had not where to lay His head ? The element of pov- 
erty undoubtedly entered into the humiliation of our 
Lord ; but it was voluntarily assumed for the sake of a 
higher end, and furnishes no sufficient reason why you 
and I should go poor. It is not the form but the spirit 
of that wonderful life, that we are to follow. Indeed, 
that very power which Christ exercised over the realm 
of nature, made riches a thing of comparative indif- 
ference to Him. Though He possessed but little 
money, He had a more complete control over His cir- 
cumstances than the wealthiest millionaire in the 
Roman Empire. When the hungry multitudes waited 
to be fed, He could make the five loaves and two 
fishes go the rounds of five thousand men, to say 
nothing of the women and children ; and when the 
taxes had to be paid, He could give the word of com- 
mand, and straightway an apostle would catch a fish 
with a piece of money in its mouth. When you can 
perform similar feats, you can afford to be poor. But 



296 BE A TEN PA THS. 

so long as you are just a common man, with no 
power of working miracles, the only way for you to 
follow Christ in paying your taxes and feeding those 
dependent upon you, is to get riches. What Christ 
did by miracle, man must do by money. 

If we may infer the will of the Creator from the 
teachings of the Bible, of nature, and of human ex- 
perience, it certainly seems to be His intention that 
men shall learn to accumulate wealth. What God in- 
tends us to do, it is our duty to attempt doing. We 
may make money-getting a part of our religion. But 
we are not to suppose that simply because the Divine 
Being intends men to get wealth, He will bestow it 
upon them, whether they deserve it or not. It takes 
something more than prayer and patience to bring the 
desired income. Henry Ward Beecher once said that 
if he were to go to God and ask for salad, the Lord 
would point to the garden and say, " There is the 
place to get salad ; and if you are too lazy to work 
for it, you may go without it." For six thousand 
years the finger of Providence has been pointing to> 
the fields, the markets, and the workshops, and has 
been declaring to the race as plainly as any law of 
life can speak, "There are the places to get money ; and 
if you are too lazy to work for it, you may go with- 
out it." If for sixty centuries the teaching of Prov- 
idence has all been to the effect that those who desire 
wealth must work for it, I fail to see that there is any 
piety in asking Him to reverse His methods for our 
especial indulgence. Providence is not likely to do for 
us what we are perfectly competent to do for ourselves. 



MAKING AND SPENDING. 297 

This discussion may seem irrelevant, to those who 
have no idea of praying for wealth and then leisurely 
waiting until it comes to them. None may be tempted 
to do this ; and yet many are subject to a temptation 
of a very similar character. For in these stirring 
days there are few young men who are not prompted 
to trust in a divinity that goes by the name of Chance. 
They ask chance to do for them what they are abund- 
antly able to do for themselves. They strive to get 
by means of chance what ought to be obtained only 
by hard and earnest work. Chance, however, is the 
most fickle divinity that was ever worshipped. Chance 
never adds a cent to the aggregate wealth of any 
community. Where it enters as a factor into the 
accumulation of a fortune, one man's gain is another's 
loss. Chance is a fruitful source of disorders in the 
business world. Chance is the son of chaos and the 
father of panic. Chance means poverty, distress, ruin, 
to the great majority of those who rely upon it. He 
who trusts in chance, opposes himself to the order of 
the universe. 

There is something in this world stronger than 
chance, namely, law. Chance is variable ; law is 
always the same. Chance deceives ; law is to be trusted 
to the uttermost. Those who strive to get wealth 
by chance, make ready the way for disappointment ; 
those who endeavor to get it by law, make sure of 
success. There is one law by which, from the earliest 
times, men have never failed to acquire money. It is 
a simple rule, a short rule, a rule that is applicable 
always and everywhere ; and if it has any exceptions, 



298 BE A TEN PA THS. 

I am not aware of them. To those who are desirous 
of obtaining wealth, it indicates in two short words 
the method by which they may secure it : earn it. 

There is only one way of earning anything, namely, 
by giving for it a fair equivalent. Horace Greeley 
says, " The darkest day in any man's earthly career is 
that wherein he first fancies that there is some easier 
way of gaining a dollar than by squarely earning it." 
His happiness and his moral character are brought 
into jeopardy by such delusive philosophy. No man 
can feel perfectly honest, with the consciousness that 
he is not giving back to the world an equivalent for 
every dollar received. To build up a life on a basis 
of sharp and fraudulent dealing, is to build for perdi- 
tion. Men may earn money by their hands or their 
brains, but they cannot earn it by their wits. Stealing 
is always stealing, though it is not always designated 
by so offensive an epithet. Make up your mind that 
if you are to amass a fortune in this world, every 
dollar of it shall be honestly earned. 

This may seem like a slow method of accumulating 
riches. It is slow ; but it is honorable, it is safe, and so 
far as it goes, it is absolutely sure. In whatever lines 
of business you may adopt, make it your constant aim 
to give to the world an equivalent for all that you 
would receive from it. Your reward will be in pro- 
portion to your skill and industry. Skilled labor 
rarely lacks a market, while mere brute labor is 
always being crowded to the wall. Any man can 
handle a shovel or an axe, can dig a trench or cut 
down a tree. But there is not one in a hundred thou- 



MAKING AND SPENDING. 299 

sand that can handle a sculptors chisel, and shape the 
senseless stone into beauty. When the world wants 
a day laborer, there are a hundred applicants for the 
position ; but when it wants an artist, it has to hunt 
for him. And who can blame it for proportioning its 
awards accordingly? 

When Michael Angelo had a little falling-out with 
the Pope, some of the courtiers proposed to his Holi- 
ness that he should punish the insolent artist by put- 
ting him to death. " I will," replied the pontiff, " if 
you will first find me another Michael Angelo!" 
Charles II. observed, as he picked up Titian's maul- 
stick, " A king you can always have ; a genius comes 
but rarely." 

There is always room at the top. In the lower 
ranks of every industry there is considerable compe- 
tition for the work that needs to be done ; but in the 
higher ranks this competition is reduced to a mini- 
mum, and the rewards are correspondingly greater. 
While the supply of sewing-women in any of our great 
cities is so far in excess of the demand, the compen- 
sation given for their work will, of necessity, be small. 
There are only two ways of remedying the evil, either 
by compelling the great .majority of women to re- 
main ignorant of the art of sewing, or else by educat- 
ing them to labor in the higher branches of industry. 
While every woman can take to the needle in the last 
extremity, just as every man can take to the spade, 
one cannot wonder that this quarter of the labor-market 
should be overcrowded, and that the remunerations 
offered in it should be correspondingly small. The 



300 BE A TEN PA THS. 

work that anybody and everybody can do without 
skill and training, will always be poorly paid. 

If, therefore, you would earn money in this world, 
choose not only the highest business for which you 
are adapted, but endeavor to get as high up in that 
business as you possibly can. Study it with patient 
care, master its details, learn everything that is to be 
known concerning it. Keep your eye always open for 
improvements in it, and sacrifice yourself to it night 
and day. And when by such means you have become 
a master workman in your calling, you will render to 
the world the highest type of service of which you 
are capable, and you will receive the highest recom- 
pense in return. 

Such a rule as this needs to be accompanied by a 
word of caution. The man who permits himself to 
degenerate into nothing more than a money-maker, is 
not the one who renders the greatest service to the 
world. The Turks say, " The bazaar knows neither 
father nor mother." Where the desire of wealth 
leads one to become oblivious of his family relation- 
ships and responsibilities, it is time to call a halt. 
The effort to provide for the physical necessities of 
those dependent upon us, should never render us for- 
getful of their higher needs. Children are something 
more than animals, that need only to be fed and shel- 
tered. The tendency of money-getting is toward 
crowding out all the higher interests and ambitions ; 
and this tendency is to be carefully watched and re- 
strained. You may possibly be able to make more 
money by working fourteen hours a day than by 



MAKING AND SPENDING. 30 1 

laboring for a shorter length of time ; but if the home 
life and your own higher life suffer in consequence, it 
might be well to ask whether, after all, the surplus 
earnings are worth what they cost. 

Maurice Thompson, the writer, is a busy lawyer in 
one of the smaller cities of Indiana ; yet it is his cus- 
tom to spend three months of every year away from 
business in the open air. Whatever may be said as 
to the financial loss entailed in the proceeding, his 
writings .are certainly enriched by this protracted con- 
verse with nature. " But don't you lose clients by 
such a course? " he was asked. "Oh, yes," he replied ; 
" but I have as many as I wish to attend to, and some 
of my brother lawyers are sure to get those that go 
away." It is well to remember that there is some- 
thing more desirable in life than simply to get clients 
with fees corresponding. 

To accumulate wealth, it is not sufficient for us 
simply to earn money ; we must also learn to save it. 
Unless we cultivate the habit of saving, no accumula- 
tions will result from our earnings, and even the larg- 
est patrimony would take to itself wings and fly 
away. The objection that is apt to arise when this 
phase of the subject is broached, is that the habit of 
saving sometimes leads to meanness. True enough ; 
but it leads to a competence also ; and it will not lead 
to meanness unless one permits it to do so. Where 
you find a man whose energies seem to be consumed 
in the effort to save a few cents, you find one whose 
character and ways are despicable. And if there 
were no choice open to you except to be either a 



302 BE A TEN PA THS. 

spendthrift or a miser, it might be better to be a spend- 
thrift always. 

But I am afraid the real reason why young men 
are not more given to saving, is not that they are 
afraid of meanness, but that they are averse to the 
practice of that self-denial which the habit of saving 
necessitates. He who would save money is compelled 
to deny himself constantly. If we start out in life by 
gratifying every passing fancy and purchasing whatso- 
ever we may desire, we shall undoubtedly remain poor 
to the end of our days. But if we learn to sacrifice the 
whim of the moment to the interests of a lifetime, we 
shall be in a fair way toward making accumulations. 

The fact that saving involves self-denial, gives a 
high ethical ground from which the habit may be incul- 
cated. John Sterling says somewhere, " The worst 
education which teaches self-denial is better than the 
best which teaches everything else and not that." 
Self-denial is the principle that lies at the basis of all 
the virtues. Habits of self-indulgence are a menace 
to every high and noble motive. When Steele was 
reproached for having voted in the House of Com- 
mons contrary to his previously expressed convictions, 
he excused himself by saying to his accuser, " You can 
walk on foot, but I cannot." He had grown so accus- 
tomed to his carriage that he found it easier to sell 
out his political opinions than to part with the 
luxury. 

He who strives to form the habit of saving deserves 
a place among the reformers, because of that emphatic 
protest which he makes against the extravagance of 



MAKING AND SPENDING. 303 

the age. So great is the reverence for money to-day, 
that poverty endeavors to conceal itself under a dis- 
play of affluence, and the poor man becomes doubly 
poor in the effort to appear rich. A certain standard 
of living is set by the wealthier classes, and immedi- 
ately the less wealthy attempt to follow that standard, 
no matter how much hardship may thereby be entailed 
upon them. In dress, in household appointments, in 
recreation, the predominant tendency is toward dis- 
play. You can hardly estimate the good that may be 
accomplished by those who, in the midst of such ser- 
vility to wealth, are not ashamed to say with reference 
to any special indulgence, " I cannot afford it." The 
social power of that little sentence is something tre- 
mendous. Such honorable and unabashed confessions 
of limited means are the strongest force that can be 
used in checking the tide of ostentation and extrav- 
agance. 

Those whose names are handed down as models of 
benevolence have, generally speaking, been marked by 
their habits of economy. The individuals who estab- 
lish great libraries, hospitals, colleges, public parks, 
and benevolent institutions of all descriptions, usually 
come from that class whose maxim is, "Take care of 
the pennies, and the pounds will take care of them- 
selves." Without some such rule as this they would 
never have obtained sufficient affluence to constitute 
them public benefactors. 

The Duke of Wellington, we are told, kept an exact 
account of his receipts and expenditures ; and George 
Washington's name is intimately associated with 



304 BE A TEN PA THS. 

the practice of household economy. Indeed, the 
"father of his country" is noted almost as much for 
his little account books as for his little hatchet. This 
habit of keeping an exact account of one's receipts and 
expenditures, with a little season of judgment coming 
every night when the cash is balanced, might prove of 
great value to all of us. We can hardly realize how 
much money is spent for little luxuries until we have 
the undeniable figures before us. 

Certainly unless something is saved from our earn- 
ings, we are sure sooner or later to come to want. A 
man without a competence is only one day's remove 
from starvation. If work fail, if sickness come, if 
old age and weakness creep on, as they assuredly will, 
he is thrown on the cruel mercies of society, or com- 
pelled to subsist on the bounty of relatives and friends. 
The man who is getting no advantage in his struggle 
with the world goes down to the grave feeling that his 
life has been a failure. 

No man feels poor who earns more than he spends, 
inasmuch as there is afforded to him a prospect of in- 
creasing freedom and comfort. But around him who 
is spending as much or more than he earns, the toils 
of disaster are slowly gathering. As Micawber puts 
it in his jaunty philosophy : " Annual income, twenty 
pounds; annual expenditure, nineteen, nineteen, six ; 
result, happiness. Annual income, twenty pounds ; 
annual expenditure, twenty pounds, ought, and six ; 
result, misery." The addition of a single shilling to 
one's expenditures may turn life from a joy into a 
burden. The only safe rule is never to spend a dol- 



MAKING AND SPENDING. 305 

lar until it has been honestly earned. Running in 
debt means putting oneself in the power of others, 
mortgaging the future, parting with peace of mind, 
and opening the way for deception and dishonor. The 
debtor toils that he may wipe out the accounts which 
the past holds against him ; while he who is free from 
debt toils that he may add to the opportunity and 
enjoyment of the future. The one is driven and con- 
strained ; the other is inspired by hope. 

That single shilling which, according to Micawber, 
makes life appear so different, suggests the propriety 
of a word or two on the subject of small savings. I 
am aware that when a discourse on this topic closes 
by setting forth the advisability of giving up expen- 
sive habits like smoking and drinking, it is apt to be 
scouted. These habits, however, have a very direct 
bearing on thrift, and may be studied from the stand- 
point of economy as well as from that of morals. 
Great Britain spends two hundred and fifty million 
dollars a year on drink. The United States spends two 
hundred millions per annum for the support of dogs. 
But instead of looking at these larger aspects of the 
question, we may content ourselves with asking what it 
would profit a man to save, say, fifty cents a day, a 
sum which the average young man of the period 
easily squanders on cigars and liquors. This sum, 
steadily laid by and put out to interest during a per- 
iod of fifty years, or from the age of twenty to that 
of seventy, would leave one with a snug little fortune 
of sixty-seven thousand dollars. Or should you be 
able to save only twelve cents a day for sixty years, 



306 be a ten pa ths. 



it would amount to some sixteen thousand dollars. 
The little items make a great sum in time. 

In the matter of saving, as in most other duties, 
human nature usually does best under pressure. It 
is said that a horse which carries a rider can always 
overtake one that is unridden. The man who is bur- 
dened with a sense of obligation can usually accom- 
plish more than one who feels perfectly free to do as 
he pleases. You will be much more likely to save 
money by entering into some agreement that will vir- 
tually compel you to lay by a certain sum so many 
times a year. It is easier to save when we have to do 
so, than when the matter is left entirely optional with 
ourselves. General Butler dates the beginning of his 
prosperity to the day when he began to invest in real 
estate, and was obliged from time to time to make 
payments upon his purchases as the installments be- 
came due. A similar pressure is experienced by 
those who insure their lives, and find the necessity of 
making regular payments forcing them into the saving 
habit. Under some forms of policies, an insurance 
company really becomes a savings-bank, which will 
not only pay back in time all that we have invested, 
with a fair rate of interest, but will, in addition, carry 
the risk of paying the entire face-value of the policy at 
any moment, should an untimely death overtake us. In 
this way one is helped to lay by money against the 
unproductive period of old age, and at the same time 
those dependent upon his labors have an ample pro- 
tection against want. 

But there is another aspect of this subject that must. 



MAKING AND SPENDING. 



307 



not be omitted. Having said so much on earning and 
saving money, it seems needful to say a few words on 
the subject of spending. 

" Gold thou may' st safely touch, but if it stick 
Unto thy hands, it woundeth to the quick." 

So speaks George Herbert. Money is given us that 
we may spend it for the useful and beautiful things 
that the earth contains. It is good for nothing else. 
It is only a means by which things more desirable 
than itself may be secured. And it is just as sense- 
less to accumulate more money than we can ever use 
to advantage, as it would be to accumulate piles of 
stone that we could never build into walls, or piles of 
lumber that could never be turned into anything else. 

Many a man knows how to accumulate a fortune, 
who becomes as helpless as a child when the question 
of spending that fortune is presented to him. We 
never understand the uses of money until spending 
reaches the dignity of a fine art, that is, until we 
know how to use our wealth as artistically, as grace- 
fully, as effectively as the painter uses his colors, or 
the architect his building materials. The art of spend- 
ing money is infinitely more important than the art of 
music and quite as difficult to acquire. Indeed we 
may say that financial artists, like all other artists, 
must be born as well as made ; and that where people 
are naturally destitute of tact, judgment, and taste, 
no amount of teaching will ever enable them to spend 
their wealth to advantage. 

The most important rules of this art of spending 



308 BE A TEN PA THS. 



may be summed up in the following injunctions : 
Spend economically ; spend independently ; spend 
wisely ; spend unselfishly. 

i. Spend economically. Do not spend for the 
mere sake of spending. Money is power : it com- 
mands the services of others, and enables us to pos- 
sess ourselves of the treasures of many lands. The 
spending of money brings with it that consciousness 
of superiority, that sense of exaltation, which accom- 
panies the exercise of any power whatsoever. The 
act of spending always communicates this pleasure ; 
and for this reason many are tempted to spend, that 
they may have the momentary delight of realizing 
their ability. For the same reason the bully picks a 
quarrel with some inoffensive antagonist and beats 
him. To exercise power for the sake of this tem- 
porary gratification, is selfish and wasteful. There is 
only one sufficient reason for buying anything in the 
world, namely, that we need it. To buy a thing be- 
cause it is cheap, is like knocking a man down because 
he is little. If we do not need an article, we are 
deprived of the only rational ground on which it may 
be purchased. 

We smile at the ancients for dining on peacocks' 
brains and sipping pearls dissolved in their wines, 
simply that the cost of their banquets might be 
brought up to what was considered "good form." 
They might as well have scattered their wealth broad- 
cast on the streets. But is there not oftentimes as 
much foolish and ostentatious extravagance to-day? 
The old artists strove to put a great deal of gold leaf 



MAKING AND SPENDING. 309 

into their paintings, and ruined them to that extent as 
works of art. The men and women of to-day who 
make their lives garish with displays of gold, are 
equally lacking in fine artistic sensibility. 

2. Spend independently. Do not buy just because 
others are buying. Do not purchase a dress or a 
bonnet simply because somebody else has set the ex- 
ample. Consult your individual tastes. Strive to 
fulfill your own ideal. Be yourself. If you are not 
yourself, what are you? If Robert Bonner spends 
thousands on his stables, and Jay Gould spends a 
small fortune on his yacht, there is no good reason 
why you should follow them. No mere copyist can 
ever become an artist ; no man who does just what 
others are doing can count for much in his day and 
generation. 

3. Spend wisely. When a certain Guinea slave- 
trader was told that he saw before him two of the 
greatest men in the world, the poet Pope being one of 
them, he replied, " I do not know how great you may 
be, but I have often bought a man much better than 
both of you together, all bones and muscles, for ten 
guineas ! " There are still individuals in this world 
who have no distinct perception of the fact that there 
is something in human nature infinitely higher than 
bones and muscles. They are quite willing to expend 
money in satisfying the needs of the physical man, but 
leave the spirit unsupplied and unadorned. Some 
people would put a thousand dollars into a horse ; 
some would put it into a diamond pin ; and some 
would put it into an education. You have no diffi- 



310 BEATEN PATHS. 

culty in determining in which class the true artists are 
to be found. 

Wisdom invests wealth in the best of all possible 
things, and gives preference to the higher interests 
rather than the lower. Get the best things you 
can for your money. Instead of ice-cream, you may 
buy philosophy ; instead of neck-ties, you may pur- 
chase the arts ; instead of cigars and wine, bad com- 
pany and bad habits, you may purchase the delights 
of science, of letters, or of travel. Spend on the 
highest interests of your being. If you were to find 
Raphael working as a house-painter, you would de- 
clare that he might employ his talents and colors to 
better advantage. Does not the same criticism hold 
when we discover human beings squandering their re- 
sources on victuals, clothes, furniture, and horses ? He 
who puts his money into manhood, that is, into knowl- 
edge, culture, and character, has deposited it in the 
only bank where it is safe for time and for eternity. 

4. Spend unselfishly. Do not expend all your 
savings upon yourself. Meet the demands of the 
home, the school, the community, the church. Aspire 
toward being an all-round man with large sympathies 
and generous enthusiasms, and not a poor little dwarf 
of a fellow, whose brain and heart are not large 
enough to take in interests beyond those that are im- 
mediately represented in himself. Be generous. Be 
a giver to every worthy cause, to the full limit of your 
ability. Remember that you are simply a steward of 
the funds entrusted to you by Providence. There may 
be people who give too much, but you are not likely 



MAKING AND SPENDING. 3 1 1 

to meet them ; the great majority err on the side of 
selfishness. 

Why does the Lord love a cheerful giver? Not simply 
because the money goes to the cause of religion, for 
often it does not. But because nobody ever gives 
cheerfully, unless there is a lot of manhood behind the 
pocket-book. Nobody can give cheerfully without 
being an enthusiast in the cause that demands assist- 
ance. It is their enthusiasms that make men. The 
money forced out of us by the solicitous agent of 
some charitable enterprise is not given ; it is simply 
spent to get rid of a nuisance — an expenditure in the 
line of self-indulgence. Where giving is the outcome 
of some uplifting enthusiasm, it deserves to rank with 
prayer as a means of grace. 

How should one give ? Just as he earns, just as he 
saves — that is, systematically. The civilized man 
endeavors to free his life as far as possible from the 
capricious rule of impulse, by reducing it to system. 
Our charities should be as well considered' as our 
wardrobes, our houses, our books and pictures. 
Benevolence never reaches its true dignity until it 
becomes a habit rather than an impulse. We should 
be able to make plans for giving, just as we make 
plans for work and recreation. 

When should one give? Right along, all the way 
through life. When should one eat? When should 
one work? When should one pray? If a man were 
to say, I will do all my eating this month, and for the 
next eleven months I will do nothing but sleep and 
toil, what would become of him? Be as much of a 



3 1 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

man as you can seven days in every week. Make 
your giving as regular and constant as meals and 
sleep. Let the outflow of money be as continuous as 
the income. Above all, do not wait until you are 
dead before doing something for the world ; do it 
while you are living, and as a free gift. Post-mor- 
tem benevolence is always regarded with suspicion. 
What credit is there in letting the world have our 
money after we have no further use for it ourselves ? 
The giving that occasions no sacrifice, brings no 
profit to the giver. A man cannot shrive his soul by 
directing that a crown of thorns shall be placed upon 
his corpse. Give until you feel it, and while you can 
feel it. 

Sir Henry Taylor says : " A right measure and man- 
ner in getting, saving, spending, giving, taking, lend- 
ing, borrowing, and bequeathing, would almost argue 
a perfect man." The art of using money aright de- 
mands the exercise of nearly all the virtues. Instruc- 
tion and practice in this art cannot be begun at too 
early an age. The child should be taught the value 
of every penny that passes through his hands by being 
compelled to earn it. Train him up to habits of toil, 
of self-denial, of economy, of benevolence. He 
who knows how to use riches to the best advantage, 
knows how to use the world. The sum of that prac- 
tical knowledge which enables a man to make his life 
a success, is nearly all involved in the right methods 
of earning, saving, and spending money. 



XIV. 
THE BLESSINGS OF TOIL. 



11 There is but one method of attaining to excellence, and that is 
hard labor ; and a man who will not pay that price for distinction had 
better at once dedicate himself to the pursuits of the fox, or sport with 
the tangles of Neaera's hair, or talk of bullocks and glory in the goad ! " 

— Sydney Smith. 

" If you want knowledge, you must toil for it ; if food, you must toil 
for it ; and if pleasure, you must toil for it. Toil is the law." — Ruskin. 

" Toil, and be glad ! let industry inspire 
Into your quickened limbs her buoyant breath ! 
Who does not act is dead ; absorbed entire 
In miry sloth, no pride, no joy he hath : 
O leaden-hearted men, to be in love with death." 

— Thomson. 

NTIL the millennium dawns, the 
human race will consist of two 
classes, the workers and the 
shirkers. This division is per- 
tinent, not simply to the indus- 
trial life of men, but also to 
their domestic, social, political, 
and religious obligations. Of two children growing 
up within the same home, one resolutely meets and 
discharges every duty ; the other avoids unpleasant 
exertion, and becomes an adept at making excuses. 
In every school there are certain scholars who may 

19 




3 1 6 BE A TEN PA TBS. 

always be relied upon to give a perfect recitation, and 
there are others who invariably present themselves 
poorly prepared. In every factory some are ener- 
getic, intelligent, persistent, while others habitually 
slight their work. In every community you will find 
certain families whose disposition is to elicit as many 
social favors as they can, without making any return. 
And every church contains a chosen few, who bear the 
burdens and discharge the unpleasant tasks, while 
their fellow-members remain content to enjoy the 
fruits of these labors and do nothing. 

If you were asked to say in which of these two 
classes the healthiest, happiest, and noblest individuals 
are to be found, you would have no hesitation in 
pointing to the class of toilers. For ill health, ill 
manners, and ill repute, there are none to compare 
with those who habitually slight their duties. These 
facts are universally recognized ; and yet there is 
something in human nature that leads us all to look 
upon a life of ease with most favorable eye, and to 
yearn for the day when we may lay aside all burdens 
and devote ourselves to doing nothing. 

An intelligent foreigner, who had traveled exten- 
sively, was once asked whether he could not point 
to some one characteristic that men of all climes 
and nationalities possessed in common. After pausing 
for a moment, that the weighty question might receive 
due consideration, he replied in his broken way, " Me 
tink all men love lazy!" A certain candidate for 
ministerial orders, being questioned as to the nature 
of original sin, answered that he did not know what 



THE BLESSINGS OF TOIL. 317 

other people's might be, but he rather thought his was 
laziness. Some Indian converts were being cate- 
chised as to their Christian experience and resolves, 
and among other things were asked, "Are you willing 
to abstain from work on Sundays ? " To which the 
dusky disciples immediately responded, " O yes ; and 
on all other days too ! " 

Whether it comes by way of inheritance from the 
indolent habits of our savage ancestors, or from the 
experiences of our own early childhood wherein free- 
dom from care and abundant opportunity for play 
turned every day into a holiday, certain it is that hu- 
man beings do not love to work, and that if no pres- 
sure of necessity were upon them they would inevi- 
tably gravitate toward a life of idleness. The love of 
labor is an acquired appetite, bred into us by long 
years of enforced exertion. You will never discover 
a boy who has not decided preferences for a life of 
idleness, and who is not capable of drawing a sharp 
line of distinction between work and play. You will 
never find a boy who longs to play at sawing wood or 
hoeing turnips; nor will you ever discover a girl who 
mistakes the darning of stockings for amusement. 
Our natural disposition is to shirk toil on every oppor- 
tunity. It is difficult to convince the inexperienced 
that the ideal life is not one of unbroken leisure, but 
rather one of steady exertion. 

Former generations were accustomed to excuse 
idleness on the ground that work was not respectable. 
In the age of feudalism the only employment that was 
thought fit for a gentleman consisted in fighting and 



3 1 8 BE A TEN PA THS. 

carousing. The fact that, while war was^ rife every- 
where, a man was found devoting himself persistently 
to the arts of peace, argued the possession of a cra- 
ven spirit. In that age war demanded more of cour- 
age, of resource, of skill, than any other calling; 
and beyond all question, the most important serv- 
ices were rendered to the community by those 
who were versed in its practices. Hence the military 
profession took precedence of all others, and learning 
as well as agriculture and the arts were looked upon 
with disfavor. The ancient baron made his boast that 
he could neither read nor write. To-day it is counted 
a disgrace to be unacquainted with these fundamentals 
of culture ; and the value of those industries which 
used to be branded as ignoble, is so generally recog- 
nized that "the dignity of labor" has become a stere- 
otyped phrase. 

One of the presidents of this Republic, when ques- 
tioned as to his coat of arms, remembering that he 
had cut rails in his youth, replied that it consisted in 
" a pair of shirt-sleeves ! " It is the great army of 
the toilers that are to-day rendering the noblest ser- 
vice to the world, and that deserve the highest place 
in the estimation of the people. But as every move- 
ment has its pioneers, it also has its retinue ; and you 
may still find, bringing up the rear of progress, a few 
who persist in cherishing the sentiment that it is more 
noble to slaughter one's fellow beings than to feed 
and clothe them. 

Others, again, may be discovered, who attempt to 
excuse their indolence on ethical and religious grounds,, 



THE BLESSINGS OF TOIL. , 319 

by proclaiming the paramount duty of contentment. 
What is the advantage, they ask, in going through such 
a vast amount of anxiety and toil, simply that your 
bank account may be increased, or your name stand 
a trifle higher in the estimation of your acquaintances? 
Why not be content with what you have? They may 
even lapse into sanctimoniousness, and urge upon us 
the duty of considering the lilies of the field that 
" toil not neither do they spin." 

Contentment, however, is hardly applicable to one 
who is quite capable of bettering himself and his sur- 
roundings, but who shirks the effort that such improve- 
ment would involve. Contentment applies to him 
who, having already done his best, .finds his attain- 
ment still falling short of his ideal. Contentment, as 
a religious duty, is fostered by that promise which the 
Bible holds out to us, that we shall eventually reach a 
set of circumstances matching in every respect with 
our ideal. Without some such assurance as this, it is 
difficult to see how any noble spirit could avoid fret- 
ting and chafing interminably against the limitations 
of the present. The prospect of never realizing our 
highest aspirations would be enough to paralyze all 
effort and submerge the race in the gloom of pessim- 
ism. But with the assurance that our noblest long- 
ings shall one day be satisfied, we are enabled to toil 
on during the present and to possess our spirits in 
patience, waiting the day of better things. 

This is what we are to understand by contentment. 
We cannot, without degarding our entire character, 
school ourselves into being satisfied with the world as 



3 20 BE A TEN PA THS. 

it is. The inherent law of our being is, that we 
shall aspire after something higher and put forth all 
our energies to realize it. And it is only as we do this, 
that contentment becomes a virtue. The content that 
springs from indolence, from mean ambitions, from 
the stultifying of our nobler instincts, is a vicious and 
depraved thing, which we should do our utmost to 
avoid. It was this that Edmund Burke alluded to in 
his oft quoted saying, " Show me a contented slave, and 
I will show you a degraded man ! " 

A more forcible argument is presented by those 
who attempt to excuse their inactivity on the ground 
that success in life depends upon luck rather than 
upon exertion. The Micawbers, whose business in life 
consists in simply waiting around till something 
"turns up," are to be numbered by scores. It has 
been observed that those who are unsuccessful in life 
seem to regard themselves as victims of fate, rather 
than of their own indolence and incapacity ; while 
those who get on in the world are inclined to attribute 
their success mainly to their own exertions. 

At the same time no one can deny that there is a 
force, potent in the shaping of every career, which 
may be designated as luck. One child seems to be 
born under the most favorable auspices, and every- 
thing he touches turns to success, while another goes 
through the world making an almost unbroken suc- 
cession of failures. The race is not always to the 
swift, nor the battle to the strong. The stoutest boy 
of the village goes into an early decline, while some 
weak and emaciated creature, whose life was despaired 



THE BLESSINGS OF TOIL. 32 I 

of a dozen times during his childhood, becomes a cen- 
tenarian. The brightest scholar ends up in the poor- 
house, and the dunce becomes a legislator and a mil- 
lionaire. " The best laid schemes gang aft a-gley,'' 
while folly and improvidence blunder forward to suc- 
cessful issues. 

Lord Timothy Dexter sends his cargo of warming- 
pans to the West Indies, and the world laughs ; but the 
venture, by a happy and unforeseen coincidence, proves 
successful and Lord Timothy's fortune is made. Sir 
Humphry Davy, on viewing a dexterously manipu- 
lated experiment, thanks God that he himself has not 
been gifted with such dexterity, since so many of his 
most valuable discoveries have resulted from acci- 
dents produced by bungling. 

There is such a thing as luck ; it is useless to 
gainsay it. But it is safe to say that the man who 
trusts luck to do for him what he is abundantly able 
to do for himself, will find that his faith has been mis- 
placed. If one happens to be lying under an apple-tree f 
there is no arguing against the possibility that an 
apple may fall plump into his mouth. Such a 
thing may occur, and possibly has occurred in the 
past experience of the race. But if he wishes to ob- 
tain that apple, there is a better way of getting it 
than by simply lying on the ground with distended 
mouth. Under such circumstances I would rather 
have a one-pound club than a whole ton of luck. 

If you wish to obtain any of the prizes of life, bet- 
ter a hundred times the active brain and the toiling 
hand than all the luck you have ever heard of. So 



322 BE A TEN PA THS. 

far as chance is concerned, it is just as likely to 
bring prizes to the toiling as to the idle. There is no 
advantage in doing nothing. Chance, in many of the 
instances that are so currently cited, consists simply in 
an opportunity — an opportunity which the idle are 
almost sure to slight, and which none but the indus- 
trious improve. The best things in life do not come 
by chance. We occasionally hear of lucky men who 
grow rich by a happy conjunction of circumstances, 
but we never hear that anyone has become cultured, 
upright, public-spirited, or devout by chance. It is 
only moral energy and effort that can bring these 
higher blessings. 

Here, however, it may be well to consider another 
popular delusion, namely, that if one is only the fortu- 
nate possessor of a certain natural endowment which 
the world recognizes as genius, he will be able to do 
great things and reach the very pinnacle of fame with- 
out exertion. Genius, it is supposed, can dash off an 
epic at a single sitting, solve the most perplexing prob- 
lems of engineering at a glance, and discover the 
most recondite principles of science as if by intuition. 

I am not disposed to deny that there is such a thing 
as genius. Some men come into the world with an en- 
dowment of brain that is simply superb, and that 
empowers them to take the highest position among 
their fellows. Toil is the ally of genius rather than 
a substitute for it. Genius itself has no substitute ; it 
is inimitable. No amount of toil would ever enable 
some men to paint the Sistine Madonna or to com- 
pose " Lohengrin." " Even Wordsworth," declares 



THE BLESSINGS OF TOIL. 323 

Charles Lamb, " one day told me he considered 
Shakespeare greatly overrated. ' There is an immen- 
sity of trick in all that Shakespeare wrote,' he said, 
'and the people are taken by it. Now, if I had a 
mind, I could write exactly like Shakespeare.' So 
you see," proceeded Lamb, " it was only the mind 
that was wanting." 

Genius means uncommon ability ; but ability unem- 
ployed is just as useless as no ability at all. Genius 
unworked accomplishes nothing. The soil may be 
rich, but it will never produce harvests without tillage. 
Genius, instead of being a substitute for work, is 
rather an incentive to it. It surprises us to discover 
that those who have been possessed of unquestioned 
genius have been accustomed to attribute their success 
to hard work rather than to natural endowment. 
Hogarth says, " There is no such thing as genius ; 
genius is nothing but labor and diligence." Carlyle 
says, ■" Genius is an immense capacity for taking 
trouble;" and George Eliot declares, "Genius is little 
more than a capacity for receiving discipline." Buffon 
said of genius, " It is patience," and Sir Humphry 
Davy agrees with this definition ; while Helvetius de- 
clares, " Genius is nothing but continued attention." 
While these statements are hardly satisfactory as 
definitions, they at least indicate that the geniuses of 
the world are the very ones who have placed the 
strongest emphasis on the necessity of toil. "No 
abilities, however splendid," says A. T. Stewart, " can 
command success, without intense labor and persever- 
ing application." 



324 BE A TEN PA THS. 

This world is a working world. For so many gen- 
erations have the good things of life been given as 
the reward of toil, that wherever we look to-day, we 
find thousands of our fellow beings resisting their 
native indolence and working away in the confident 
expectation of receiving some reward. On hill and val- 
ley, on land and sea, on the surface of the earth and in its 
dark and secret mines, men are toiling. The food we 
eat, the clothes we wear, the houses we dwell in, the 
fuel we burn, the books we read, the pictures and 
poems that lift us into ideal frames of mind, are all 
the result of toil. 

A single dress represents the labor of hundreds and 
possibly of thousands of individuals in the different 
quarters of the globe : cotton from Egypt, wool from 
Australia, flax from Ireland, silk from China, dyes 
from the tropics — work of sun and soil, work of hand 
and brain, work of spindle and needle, work of fac- 
tory and warehouse and market, all going into this 
simple dress ! When you think of the great armies 
of workmen that gather and prepare the raw mater- 
ials, of the great army of common carriers that bring 
these raw materials together, of the millions employed 
in manufacturing and the further millions who dis- 
tribute the manufactured products, you get an idea of 
the way in which the world hangs together. No man 
liveth unto himself; we are all members one of 
another. Society is organized on a working basis. 

We might as well expect the rivers to run upward as 
expect the blessings of life to come to us without toil 
If we want good houses, we must work to build them. 



THE BLESSINGS OF TOIL. 325 

If we want good educations and well-trained minds, 
we must work to secure them. If we desire a good 
and upright government, we must work to establish it. 
If we would think great thoughts or speak helpful 
words or write books that shall be worth the reading, 
we must toil to accomplish these several purposes. He 
that would fill a man's place and carry a man's influ- 
ence, must be prepared to do a man's work. The 
world has no use for the idler. 

We read the lives of successful men and are im- 
pressed by nothing so much as by the fact that they 
have been conspicuous for their unremitting industry. 
The great scholars, inventors, generals, merchants, 
authors, artists, divines, governors, and statesmen — 
which one of them is there that ever entered into his 
reward without work ? All down the ages He whose 
are the good and precious gifts has reserved His special 
awards for the toilers. 

Louis XIV. declares, " It is by toil that kings govern." 
Peter the Great was a model of industry, rising with 
the lark, toiling at the ship-yards, and working at the 
forges with common mechanics, in order that he might 
make himself master of their handicrafts for the in- 
struction and benefit of his subjects. Of Frederick 
the Great, Macaulay declares, " He loved labor for its 
own sake. His exertions were such as were hardly to be 
expected from a human body or a human mind." 
And the monarch himself thus writes to Voltaire : 
" The more one nurses oneself, the more feeble and 
delicate does the body become. My trade requires 
toil and activity, and both my body and my mind 



326 BE A TEN PA THS. 



must adapt themselves to their duty. It is not ne- 
cessary that I should live, but it is necessary that I 
should act." 

The history of science consists to a large extent of 
the records of individuals who have devoted themselves, 
body and soul, to its pursuits. Buffon gives fifty years 
of thought and study to his Epoques de la Nature, 
and writes it over no less than eleven times before he 
deems it fit to be presented to the public. Sir Isaac 
Newton indicates his method of study in these words: 
"I keep the subject continually before me, and wait 
till the first dawnings open slowly, by little and little, 
into a full and clear light." Tyndall declares that 
during the years spent in Germany he studied sixteen 
hours a day. Charles Darwin, though an invalid, 
harbored his strength with the most parsimonious 
economy, and worked with such systematic regularity 
.that but few individuals in the full possession of their 
powers have made so good a showing. 

If there is anything that is supposed to come spon- 
taneously to men, it is eloquence ; yet the annals of 
the bar, the pulpit, and the rostrum reveal nothing 
more clearly than this, that those who have made a 
mark as orators have been unremitting in their toil. It 
has been commonly represented that Patrick Henry 
was idle and illiterate, and that the speech which has 
made him famous came to him without effort or pre- 
paration ; but it seems, after all, this is only a popular 
delusion. He was versed in books, was familiar with 
the Latin and Greek classics, and was accustomed to 
spend hours daily in close study. Henry Clay attri- 



THE BLESSINGS OF TOIL. 327 

buted his success to the fact that from the age of 
twenty-seven, he was accustomed to read daily in 
some historical or scientific work, and then, after clos- 
ing the volume, to discourse to himself on the sub- 
ject that he had been studying. " These off-hand 
efforts," he confesses, "were made sometimes in a 
corn-field, at other times in the forest, and not unfre- 
quently in some distant barn, with the horse and ox 
for my auditors." Daniel Webster, speaking of his 
famous reply to Hayne, declares that the point at 
issue was one to which he had given years of study, hav- 
ing even made notes of the line of argument to be pur- 
sued in sustaining his views. " If," says Mr. Webster, 
" he had tried to make a speech to fit my notes, he 
could not have hit it better. No man is inspired with 
the occasion. I never was." Dr. Guthrie, the noted 
pulpit orator of Scotland, used to spend every avail- 
able moment of the week in making preparation for 
the labors of the Sabbath, writing out his sermons in 
full, and even correcting, interlining, and re-arranging 
what he had written, up to the very moment for pub- 
lic service. And even Henry Ward Beecher, genius as 
he was, was as industrious in accumulating material 
for his discourses as a bee is in gathering honey from 
the flowers of the field. 

If we make a sudden transition from the pulpit 
to the stage, we shall find that those who have 
attained eminence as actors have been compelled to 
descend to absolute drudgery. John Kemble, it is 
said, wrote out the part of Hamlet thirty times, each 
time declaring that he had discovered something new 



328 BEATEN PATHS. 



to be brought out in the rendering of the play. Rachel, 
gifted as she was with such intuitive taste that by 
throwing a common table-cloth around her figure she 
could instantaneously produce an effect which the pro- 
fessional modistes would strive in vain to imitate, 
nevertheless devoted days of severe study to master- 
ing the parts assigned her. Intonations, pauses, atti- 
tudes — every trifle that went into the making of the 
perfect actress, was carefully thought out and acquired 
by arduous and protracted effort. " I have studied my 
sobs," she wrote, " and shall watch to see if you are 
satisfied, for I am not sure that they will come." 

Musical prodigies are not uncommon ; but let no 
one suppose from this fact that the masters of sweet 
sounds have attained their eminence without toiling. 
Handel had a harpsichord, every key of which was 
hollowed out by his constant practice until it looked 
like the bowl of a spoon. A youth asks Giardini how 
long it will take to learn the violin, and the reply is, 
" Twelve hours a day for twenty years together ! " 
The favorite motto of Beethoven was, " The barriers 
are not erected which can say to aspiring talents and 
industry, Thus far and no farther ! " The amount of 
drudgery that he spent in perfecting his masterpieces is 
almost incredible. " There is hardly a bar in his 
music," says Grove, " of which it may not be said that 
it has been re-written a dozen times." Mozart de- 
clares, " Work is my chief pleasure." Meyerbeer was 
accustomed to spend fifteen hours a day in the culti- 
vation of his art. Von Bulow, when complimented on 
his marvellous ability as a pianist, intimated that it all 



THE BLESSINGS OF TOIL. 329 

came as the result of toil. " If I stop practicing one 
day," said he, " I notice it myself ; two days, my 
friends notice it; three days, my audience notices it." 

It is the same with the great painters : toil, pains, 
industry, is the lesson that their success enjoins upon 
the world. Leonardo da Vinci would walk the whole 
length of a street in Milan, meditating the addition of 
a single touch to his famous masterpiece, The Last 
Supper. Michael Angelo was a most prodigious 
worker, rising even in the middle of the night, at times, 
and then wearying himself to such an extent that he 
was compelled to cast himself at last upon the couch 
with his clothes on, too tired to undress. Sir Joshua 
Reynolds was so profound a believer in the power of 
industry that he expressed the doubtful opinion that 
by toil alone the highest excellence in art might be 
attained. " Those who are resolved to excel," he de- 
clared, "must go to their work, willing or unwilling, 
morning, noon, and night ; they will find it no play, but 
hard labor." And Turner, whose praises have been 
so nobly sounded by Ruskin, is said to have declared 
to a lady who asked the secret of his success, " I have 
no secret, madam, but hard work." 

From the lives of literary men the most striking 
lessons as to the necessity of hard work are to be de- 
rived. From the very beginnings of literary effort, 
industry has been a prime condition of success. It was 
Virgil's custom to compose a number of verses in the 
morning, and to devote the remainder of the day to 
polishing and perfecting them. He spent more than 
three years upon the Eclogues, and seven years on the 



3 30 BE A TEN PA THS. 

Georgics ; and after twelve years of labor on the 
^Eneid, he was so dissatisfied with it that he attempted 
to rise from his death-bed that he might commit it 
to the flames. Without this habit of incessant toil, 
who can suppose that he would ever have written his 
name so indelibly upon the memory of civilized man. 
Rousseau declares, " My manuscripts, blotted, scratched, 
interlined, and scarcely legible, attest the trouble they 
cost me. There is not one of them which I have not 
been obliged to transcribe four or five times before it 
went to the press. Some of my periods I have turned, 
or re-turned in my head five or six nights before they 
were fit to be put on paper." Montesquieu, alluding to* 
one of his works, said to a friend, " You will read it in 
a few hours ; but I assure you it cost me so much 
labor that it has whitened my hair." Pascal did not 
begrudge spending twenty days on each of his cele- 
brated Provincial Letters. 

Balzac was one of the most painstaking of literary 
workers, walking the streets of Paris with note-book 
always in hand, scrutinizing all classes of society, and 
ready at all times to make an extensive journey for 
the sake of perfecting some minute and apparently 
unimportant detail in the work that he had in hand. 
After the first draft of his novel had been completed, 
he would set about rewriting it, transposing the chap- 
ters, pruning, expanding, and sparing no pains to ren- 
der it perfect. When the proofs came in from the 
printers, he would fill the margins with corrections and 
additions, and frequently even the third and fourth 
"revise" would be returned for further improvements. 



THE BLESSINGS OF TOIL. 33 1 

" I toil," said he, " sixteen hours out of the twenty-four 
over the elaboration of my unfortunate style, and am 
never satisfied when it is done." 

Hume labored for thirteen hours a day upon his 
History of England ; Bancroft spent twenty-six years 
in preparing his History of the United States ; and 
Prescott devoted ten years to literary drudgery before 
his Ferdinand and Isabella was ready for the press. 
John Foster, in revising his famous essays for publica- 
tion, was accustomed, to use his own words, " to hack, 
split, twist, prune, pull up by the roots, or practice any 
other severity " on whatever he did not like. As a 
consequence he worked so slowly that when Dr. Chal- 
mers, after a visit to London, w r as asked what Foster 
was doing, he replied, " Hard at it, at the rate of a 
line a week ! " Sir Walter Scott wrote with such 
careful regard for facts, that on one occasion he was 
observed to take out his note-book and write down 
the names of the grasses and flowers that grew in a 
certain locality which he wished to describe in one of 
his works. In his later years, goaded on by debt, he 
toiled with such unremitting energy upon the Waverley 
novels that his physical and mental powers gave w r ay 
at last beneath the incessant strain. 

William Cullen Bryant composed with the greatest 
difficulty, owing to the fastidiousness of his literary 
taste, and was always ready to revise what he had 
written. It is said that he re-wrote Thanatopsis a 
hundred times, and even then he was so dissatisfied 
with it that the printed copy which he possessed was 

found to contain numerous emendations in the margin 

20 



332 BE A TEN PA THS. 

When some one spoke to Tennyson of a certain line 
in Locksley Hall, " Better fifty years of Europe than 
a cycle of Cathay," instancing it as one of those tri- 
umphs of expression which come to poets without 
effort, the laureate frankly declared, " I smoked a dozen 
cigars over that line ! " 

There is no limit to the number of such anecdotes. 
Toil is the indispensable condition of success in all 
professions. He that will not fulfiill the conditions 
cannot hope to have the success desired. Without 
work genius slumbers, opportunity passes unimproved, 
and life becomes of no value — 

" A life of nothings, nothing worth, 
From that first nothing ere his birth 
To that last nothing under earth." 

The blessings of toil are not confined simply to 
those outward benefits which it secures for us ; it exer- 
cises also a reflex influence on the worker himself. 
That the ideal life is a working life, is to be inferred 
from the number of benefits, physical, intellectual, and 
moral, that accrue to the toiler. The Marquis de 
Spinola once asked Sir -Horace Vere, "Pray, sir, of 
what did your brother die?" "He died," replied Sir 
Horace, " of having nothing to do." " Alas," exclaimed 
the Marquis, " that is enough to kill any general of us 
all ! " Strength and health are among the rewards of 
the worker. The sallow countenance and the furred 
tongue, drowsiness and headaches, melancholy and 
dyspepsia, come not to him whose energies are always 
on the go. Nature smiles upon the laborer, and 
frowns upon the drone. 



THE BLESSINGS OF TOIL. 333 

Are you searching for a cranky, unbalanced, and 
unreliable mind, for a mind that looks out on the 
world through jaundiced eyes, and that never notes a 
fact save to misconstrue it ? Find the man who has 
no regular occupation to absorb his energies, and 
your search will probably be at an end. He who has 
nothing to do save to browse in his library, and give 
free rein to his imagination without any fears of being 
called to practical account for his statements and 
opinions, is apt to become a regular Don Quixote, 
good for nothing save to tilt at windmills. When we 
are in perplexity and distress, we instinctively seek the 
guidance of some one who has a definite occupation — 
some busy man of affairs who has to shut his office- 
door upon the world while we are with him, or some 
matron with the cares of a household upon her shoul- 
ders. The opinions of an idler are hardly worth the 
paper they are written on or the time that they require 
for their setting forth. 

The mind needs work to keep it in training. It 
always renders its best service under the incentive of 
some practical end to be gained through its exercise. 
It takes on acuteness, polish, and robustness, as it is 
made to rub up against the realities of life. Many a 
man who gets all astray in his thinking through con- 
fining himself to his study, comes back to the old and 
accepted ways when some philanthropic movement 
elicits his sympathies and prompts him to go forth 
among his fellows in the effort to do practical and 
aggressive work. The world has always been sus- 
picious of theorists, but it seldom hesitates to 



334 BEA TEN PA THS > 

give credence to the men of action and affairs. 

On the moral character, more especially, work exer- 
cises a most salutary influence. Where the energies 
are occupied in the accomplishment of definite and 
useful tasks, the grosser temptations have but little in- 
fluence. So universally is this fact recognized, that it 
has become incorporated into the proverbs of differ- 
ent nations. The Italians say, " The devil may tempt 
the toiler, but a thousand dog the drone." And the 
English put it, " An idle brain is the devil's workshop." 
It is the young fellow who has nothing to do but walk 
the streets in search of some new method of dissipat- 
ing his energies, who becomes an easy victim to the 
allurements of vice. The man whose mind and heart 
and hands are all employed in the great interests and 
concerns of the world, has no craving for forbidden 
pleasures to add spice and zest to his existence. 

Work always demands a certain exercise of that 
self-denial from which all that is great and good in 
moral character may ultimately be matured. When 
people begin to work, they begin to do that toward 
which they have no natural inclination ; in other words, 
they put forth virtuous energy to overcome them- 
selves. And he who grows into the habit of summon- 
ing his will-power to overcome himself, is in a fair 
way toward the acquisition of every virtue. 

For the development of character, business-life con- 
stitutes one of the best schools that can be imagined. 
It brings one constantly up against unpleasant duties, 
and forces him to discharge them. It makes constant 
calls for the exercise of prudence, foresight, patience, 



THE BLESSINGS OF TOIL. 335 

perseverance, and self-reliance. When you think of all 
that business undertakings involve ; when you see men 
under disaster, under misrepresentation, under the 
strain of hard times, and amidst the most strenuous 
competition, nursing vast enterprises and waiting for the 
dawning of a better day, it seems as if no set of cir- 
cumstances could be devised more admirably cal- 
culated to develop all that is strong and heroic in 
human nature. I know that great men are made in 
this way ; and I hold that he who can pass through 
such disciplines and come out weak and mean at the 
end, would probably have come out mean and con- 
temptible at the end of any career. When we are 
asked to find the heroic soul, we turn at once to the 
great class of the world's workers ; we never expect to 
find an uncrowned monarch among the drones. Car- 
lyle says to the idler : " Discernest thou any idle hero, 
saint, god, or even devil ? Not a vestige of one. In 
the heavens, in the earth, in the waters under the earth, 
is none like unto thee. Thou art an original figure 
in this creation. One monster there is in the world, 
the idle man." 

Work seems to be quite as essential to the perfect- 
ing of happiness as to the developing of character. 
The man who has nothing to do, is deprived of any 
regular outlet for his constitutional activities, and be- 
comes as restless as a child who, by way of punish- 
ment, is compelled to sit perfectly still. Adam Clarke 
says: " I have lived to know that the great secret of 
human happiness is never to suffer your energies to 
stagnate. The old adage of too many irons in the 



336 BE A TEN PA THS. 

fire conveys an abomniable lie. You cannot have too 
many. Keep them all a-going — poker, tongs, and 
all ! " The Creator has made us to be active. The 
law of our being is that every power, working up to 
its normal limit, shall communicate pleasure. 

For this reason men continue to labor on in business, 
even after most princely fortunes have been amassed. 
They may take a holiday now and again, or even re- 
tire from business altogether for a season ; but the irk- 
someness of doing nothing soon drives them back 
again to the old routine of labor. When Charles 
Lamb was released from his work at the India office, 
he wrote in high glee : " I am free, free as air ! I will 
live another fifty years ! " But after two years' exper- 
ience of idleness, he wrote in quite a different strain : 
" I assure you no work is worse than overwork ; the 
mind preys on itself, the most unwholesome food ! " 

To be happy, we must have something more to do 
in this world than simply to take care of our own lit- 
tle selves. The mind unoccupied becomes an easy 
prey to dissatisfaction and unrest. It broods over its 
own anxieties, magnifies its little sorrows, and lapses 
into melancholy for sheer lack of some better em- 
ployment. 

" A millstone and the human heart are driven ever round : 

If they have nothing else to grind, they must themselves be ground. ' v 

There are people whose nearest approach to happi- 
ness consists in nursing their own wretchedness. They 
must be doing something ; and where there is no work 
to absorb the energies, it becomes more tolerable for 



THE BLESSINGS OF TOIL. 337 

the mind to turn and prey upon itself than to remain 
utterly idle. 

" Daily living seemeth weary- 
To the one who never works; 
Duty always seemeth dreary 
To the one who duty shirks. 

" Only after hardest striving 

Cometh sweet and perfect rest ; 
Life is found to be worth living 
By the one who does his best." 

He who is thoroughly intent upon his work, thinks 
no more of the little annoyances of life than the boy 
does of those small bruises that are incidental to a 
game of foot-ball. A lady was once crossing the 
Atlantic, and on the first day out saw a drunken sailor 
felled to the deck for insolence to a superior officer. 
The blood gushed from the man's nostrils, and his 
face became swollen and livid. A few days later the 
lady observed the same sailor standing at the wheel, 
and approaching him, she enquired with womanly 
sympathy, "How is your head to-day?" "West, nor' 
west, and runnin' free!" replied the sailor. His mind 
was so intent on the business of keeping the vessel's 
head in the right direction that he had forgotten all 
about his own. 

The happiest man in the world is he who has some 
commanding interest to lift him out of the small cir- 
cle of his own woes and misfortunes. We sometimes 
speak of work as a curse ; and doubtless it is this in 
its more severe forms. But we must remember that 



338 BE A TEN PA THS. 

Adam, even in the days of his innocence, was placed 
in Paradise, and enjoined to "dress the garden and 
keep it." And from the days of Adam until now, there 
has never been a Paradise without work. 

God Himself is a worker. From age to age His 
activity continues unwearied and undiminished. It is 
His energy that upholds the universe in being and 
carries the stars along in their courses. It is His toil 
that rounds the spheres and perfects the most minute 
and microscopic cell. It is from Him that the race re- 
ceives its divinest and most hopeful impulse. Science 
notes the process of development, but finds no name 
for the force by which that development is originated 
and continued. Theism wrestles with the problem, 
learns the nature of the force, and calls it God. " My 
father," said Jesus, " worketh hitherto, and I work." 

To be religious is to be like God. To be religious 
is to work for God and with God. To be religious is 
to love our fellow men, not with a sickly and senti- 
mental affection which wastes itself in words, but with 
that practical love which finds its perfect expression 
only in some useful industry. To be religious is to 
have such regard for our own higher interests as shall 
lead us to adopt that tried and perfect discipline by 
which the happiness and moral growth of men have 
been so manifestly promoted. For our own sake, for 
the world's sake, for Christ's sake, we are called upon 
to be workers. Better and wiser a thousand fold is 
the life of toil than the life of ease and unmanly in- 
dulgence. 



XV. 
BUSINESS-LIFE. 



" He who does not let his child learn a trade, paves his way to thiev- 
ery.'' — The Talmud. 

" Blessed is he who has found his work ; let him ask no other bles- 
sedness. He has a work, a life-purpose ; he has found it and will follow 
it." — Carlyle. 

"I hold every man a debtor to his profession ; from the which as 
men of course do seek to receive countenance and profit, so ought they 
of duty to endeavor themselves by way of amends to be a help and 
ornament thereunto." — Bacon. 



OMEBODY is always advertis- 
ing for the services of a " bright, 
competent young man, to assist 
in office-work and make himself 
generally useful." The remun- 
eration offered in such cases is 
always small ; but if we may 
judge from the number of responses that are usually 
made to advertisements of this sort, the market seems 
to be fairly glutted with bright, competent young men, 
who are capable of assisting in office work and mak- 
ing themselves generally useful. If, however, the 
advertiser had been desirous of securing the services 
of a skilled watchmaker, a registered pharmacist, a 




342 BE A TEN PA THS. 

blacksmith, or a book-binder, he would probably have 
experienced more or less difficulty in supplying his 
need. 

In such cases as this, we see the working of that 
law by which the labor-market is governed. What the 
world demands to-day, is not so much men who can 
make themselves generally useful, as men who can 
render efficient service in some one of those special 
lines of industry that the needs of society have de- 
veloped. In the simple and primitive life of our an- 
cestors the jack-of-all-trades seemed to thrive as well 
as anybody else ; but in the present highly organized 
condition of society his labors are at a discount. The 
world has little place for the man who can do a number 
of things passably well; it offers its highest rewards only 
to him who can do some one thing inimitably, superbly. 
Even where the extent of a man's accomplishment 
consists in nothing more than the ability to throw a ball 
with an unusual swiftness and curve, it is willing to pay 
a high premium for his services. He may be as ignorant 
of the uses of logarithms as a Fiji Islander; he may 
have no more knowledge of Greek than an Eskimo ; 
he may be utterly unable to plane a board, peddle 
shoe-blacking, or pass compliments with the ladies ; 
but if he can only " pitch ball " better than any other 
man in the United States, he can command a larger 
salary than a good sized doctor of divinity. 

The modern world demands specialists. Among the 
first duties of every young man lies that of finding 
some line of business for which he may make special 
preparation with the view of attaining special effi- 



BUSINESS-LIFE. 343, 

ciency. And one of the most critical hours of life is 
that in which we are called upon to decide what one 
line of work we will try to do supremely well for the 
remainder of our days. The great interests of life — 
wealth, health, happiness, and influence — are all de- 
pendent upon the wisdom of this choice. 

There are a hundred different occupations, each of 
which has some attractive features and some peculiar 
disadvantages. Some can be entered into with but 
little preparation, and others demand a considerable 
outlay of time and money before we can become 
qualified to labor in them at all. Some offer but a 
limited remuneration, while in others the earnings are 
considerable. Some compel the laborer to wear old 
clothes and to soil his hands; others permit him, 
should he be so disposed, to array himself continually 
in broadcloth and kid gloves. Some industries tax 
mind and body but little ; in others the strain is in- 
tense. There are many things to be taken into ac- 
count in estimating which employment is the most 
desirable ; but there is one principle that should out- 
weigh all others, namely, our own personal fitness or 
qualification. To find the occupation for which nature 
and circumstances have adapted us, is to find that in 
which we are most certain of meeting success. 

But if there is one thing that the ambitious parent 
thinks least about, it is probably the fitness of the 
child for the contemplated career. From the pol- 
ished Lord Chesterfield, wasting his efforts on his 
loutish son in the attempt to transform him into a 
courtier, to the pious mother of to-day, who cherishes 



344 BEA TEN PA THS - 

the ambition that her young scapegrace may become 
a minister, the world is full of examples of the 
error in question. To a certain unpromising candi- 
date for ministerial orders the Bishop once said, " I 
don't forbid you to preach ; nature does ! " To tell 
of all the born poets, architects, lawyers, and physi- 
cians that have been botched into something else 
through human interference with nature's manifest in- 
tentions, would require a life-time. There are men in 
the pulpit who ought to have been merchants ; the 
mercantile element sticks out all over them. There 
are men at the bar whom nature manifestly called to 
the plow. And if there are not men in the legisla- 
ture who ought to be supplied with a pair of long 
ears and permitted to trot up and down for the delec- 
tation of childhood, the opposition newspapers must 
certainly be mistaken ! The question is, What are 
you fit for ? And where nature plainly indicates that 
you ought to be one thing, while your ambitious 
friends urge you to be another, follow nature at all 
costs. That- man is badly handicapped who is com- 
pelled to qualify himself for his business by working 
a " reform against nature." 

Fortunately, where nature brings into the world a 
child with a decided bent or proclivity in any one di- 
rection, parental bungling is seldom suffered to con- 
travene her intentions. She takes good care that her 
geniuses shall not be thwarted and buried. Handel, 
smuggling his clavichord into the deserted attic, and 
playing softly upon it at midnight while the other 
members of the household were asleep ; Bach, copying 



BUSINESS-LIFE. 345. 

off folios of music by moonlight because denied the 
aid of a candle ; and Sir Joshua Reynolds, under 
whose early charcoal sketches his pragmatical father 
wrote, "Done by Joshua out of sheer idleness!" are 
cases in point. Their genius was so imperative as to 
keep its own channel, notwithstanding all the efforts 
that were made to divert it. 

Where a proclivity is so strong that nothing can 
turn it aside, we call it genius ; where it is not so 
strongly defined, it is known as talent. But it is 
doubtful whether any individual ever comes into the 
world without a predominant leaning toward some 
one set or circle of industries. If we classify the var- 
ious employments of men as professional, commercial, 
mechanical, and agricultural, there can be no doubt that 
our most congenial sphere of labor will be found in 
one of these classes to the exclusion of the -others. 
John Smeaton, who built the Eddystone lighthouse, 
was discovered, while still in petticoats, attaching a 
little windmill to the top of his father's barn. When 
Sir Walter Scott was only eighteen months of age, he 
was sent to reside with his grandfather, who would 
occasionally permit the little fellow to be taken to 
some neighboring crags with the shepherd and his sheep. 
On one occasion, when a thunder-storm was rapidly 
approaching, the child was forgotten, and was subse- 
quently discovered lying on his back, with the tempest 
beating full in his face, laughing and crying out with 
glee at every flash of lightning and its accompanying 
clap of thunder, " Bonnie ! Bonnie ! " It is hardly to 
be wondered at that an imagination which, in its un- 



346 BE A TEN PA THS. 

developed state, could thus delight in the awful grandeur 
of the storm, should subsequently create for the de- 
light of the world the Waverley novels. Napoleon 
playing with his toy cannon ; Nelson inquiring of his 
astonished relatives what fear meant ; Ferguson con- 
structing his wooden clock ; West plundering the 
family cat of her bristles, that he might turn them into 
brushes ; Carnot, crying out in the theatre, where a 
siege was being represented on the stage, that the 
attacking would perish if not removed from the sweep 
of a battery to which it stood exposed — all these 
afford examples of strong natural tendencies mani- 
festing themselves in early childhood. 

But in the great majority of instances, tastes and 
aptitudes do not disclose themselves so early. From 
the vague dreams aud ambitions of the boy, you can 
hardly forecast what will be his subsequent career. 
The lad who intimates his serious intention of becom- 
ing a cow-boy or a sea-captain, will probably find his 
adventurous spirit growing quite reconciled in time to 
the peaceful pursuits of a grocery clerk. The girl who 
dreams of princes casting their golden crowns at her 
feet, will be quite content, before many years, to link 
her fortunes with those of some impecunious nobody. 
The boy who dotes on domestic pets becomes a 
butcher ; and the bully of the school ends up in the 
pulpit. 

But when life begins to unfold itself in all its prac- 
tical reality, forcing upon us the necessity of choosing 
what part we will take in the industrial world, the real 
bent of our talent begins to disclose itself, and is to 



BUSINESS-LIFE. 347 

be trusted. Study yourself. Acquaint yourself as far 
as possible with the various trades and professions. 
Make a few experiments, if necessary, in these different 
lines of labor, but always with the distinct understand- 
ing that they are experiments and nothing more. Try 
your abilities on the farm, behind the counter, or in the 
factory. Make it your object to discover what nature 
intended you for, when she brought you into existence. 
And when you have perfectly satisfied yourself on 
that point, you have as clear a call to the line of work 
indicated, as most young men receive to the work of 
the Christian ministry. . The rule is, that the labor 
which brings us delight and satisfaction, is that for 
which we are best qualified, and in which we are most 
likely to attain success at last. 

But even with the best intentions and the utmost 
care, it is sometimes impossible to avoid mak- 
ing a blunder. We find more difficulty in becom- 
ing thoroughly acquainted with ourselves than with 
any other individual. Our partiality is apt to bias us, 
or even to blind us utterly. Douglas Jerrold, the 
famous wit, was ambitious of writing a treatise on nat- 
ural philosophy. Canova took more pride in his 
wretched daubs than in those masterpieces of the 
sculptor's art by which his name is distinguished. 
Goethe prided himself on his scientific attainments, 
rather than on his poetry ; and George Eliot thought 
more of her verses than of her novels. Few men un- 
derstand their own strength, and fewer still perceive 
their limitations. 

Under these circumstances, there is safety only in 



348 BE A TEN PA THS. 

counsel. What is the use of guardians and friends, if we 
may not elicit sound advice from them at these most 
critical periods? Whatever hints and admonitions are 
given by others may well be weighed and considered; 
To refrain from listening to the counsel of those who 
know and love us, is like refusing to stoop and pick 
up pearls that lie glistening at our feet. The wisdom 
of those who have had experience in the ways of the 
world, and who, looking on us in a dispassionate and 
unprejudiced way, are apt to see clearly our strong 
points and our weak ones, is more precious than silver 
and gold. 

Decide upon your life-work for yourself; but do not 
make your final decision until the ground has been 
thoroughly canvassed and all possible information has 
been obtained. No man is wise who elevates the 
counsel of others above his own independent judg- 
ment ; but neither is it wise to ignore that counsel 
altogether. Ponder well what your best friends say 
to you. You may have an idea that your forte lies 
in writing poetry ; but if all the editors of your 
acquaintance persist in declining your contributions, it 
might be well to ask whether, after all, the literary life 
is the one for which Providence has designed you. 

In addition to our own judgment of ourselves and 
the counsels that others give us, it is well to scan the 
horizon that we may ascertain whether there is any 
immediate opening for us into that line of industry to 
which our natural inclination leads us. We may take 
it for granted that the benevolent Being who has 
adapted us for any particular work to the exclusion 



BUSINESS-LIFE. 349 

of all others, will probably supplement His creative 
act by His providence. If He has made you to be a 
physician, He will probably give you an opportunity 
of realizing His intention. If He has fitted you to be 
a minister of the gospel, He will surely afford you 
some chance of preparing yourself for that eminent 
work. Opportunity, to be sure, must in many cases 
be sought and forced. He that refrains from direct- 
ing his talents into their appropriate channel, simply 
because there are obstacles in the way, is too 
much of a weakling to deserve success. And yet 
there are obstacles that no amount of effort can over- 
come. The man who is rendered accidentally blind 
can never hope to paint pictures. 

There is great encouragement, however, for those 
who, finding the way to the desired calling barred by 
insuperable obstacles, resolutely turn aside from their 
cherished dreams to face the duties that confront them. 
Frederick W. Robertson had strong aspirations after 
a military career*; but when he found the way to the 
profession of arms effectively closed against him, he 
turned to the ministry from a sense of duty, and car- 
ried the soldierly spirit into his pulpit work with such 
brilliant effect that, though he died in the thirties, 
he attained a name and an influence second to none 
in the annals of the Christian pulpit. 

These are simply hints as to the principles that 
should govern us in the selection of a business. The 
thing to be emphasized is, that in entering upon any- 
thing so serious and important as our life-work, we 
should choose our calling rationally, deliberately, and 



3 5 O BE A TEN PA THS. 

independently, rather than permit ourselves to drift 
into it by chance, to be forced into it by poverty, or to 
be inveigled into it by the solicitations of fond, foolish, 
and ambitious advisers. Wisdom, forethought, and 
decision are much more likely to conduct us to suc- 
cess than indolence, chance, or vanity. 

No business is worthy of a man which does not afford 
him constant opportunity of rendering substantial 
service to his fellow beings. Whatever you do, choose 
for yourself no line of industry which will not enable 
you to make the lives of men happier and sweeter. 
Much has been said about the dignity of labor ; but 
there is no dignity in that labor which brings disaster 
and ruin in its train. There is no dignity about the 
work which corrupts, cankers, and deceives. The work 
that swindles men, the work that panders to their 
lower appetites, the work that impoverishes them in 
mind, body, or estate, is more to be shunned than 
starvation itself. You cannot afford to engage in any 
business whose tendency is to nullify the ethical in- 
stincts of your nature. You need a business that will 
give scope to all there is in you of manhood as well 
as of handicraft. You need a business about which 
you can grow enthusiastic, and to which you can bring 
all that is best and noblest in your nature without any 
feeling of moral degradation. You need a business 
upon whose altars you may lay your talents, your cul- 
ture, your strength and soul, for forty or fifty years to 
come. 

And when a man finds a business that thus rouses 
-and rallies his enthusiasm, and gives scope to the 



B US IN ESS- L IFE. 3 5 I 

noblest energies of his beinof, he has discovered that 
line of industry in which success is almost assured. It 
is enthusiastic work that counts everywhere, in the pul- 
pit, in the factory, and in the kitchen. Listless work, 
work that quenches enthusiasm and degenerates into a 
mere routine of drudgery, work that is done without joy 
and without love, is almost sure to be done badly. But 
the labor that delights us, the labor in which we lose 
ourselves, and on which we spend time and thought 
and toil without any consciousness of sacrifice, — how 
can it be anything else than successful ? 

The very first thing requisite to the successful pros- 
ecution of any business, is such a degree of devotion 
to the interests of that business as will lead us, for 
the time being, to forget everything else. Where 
there is enthusiasm, there is almost sure to be concen- 
tration. The Apostle Paul declared, " This one thing 
I do ! " It is the men who possess an absorbing en- 
thusiasm for some one thing, that make their lives 
successful, and hand down an honorable record to pos- 
terity. Savonarola, Luther, Wesley ; Mendelssohn, 
Beethoven, Wagner ; Shakespeare, Goethe, Tennyson ; 
Wedgwood, Goodyear, Edison ; Agassiz and Darwin, 
Kant and Spencer, Bismarck and Grant, have all been 
noted for that commanding enthusiasm which kept 
them close, through life, to one definite pursuit. 

Concentrated effort means successful effort. Charles 
Kingsley declared, " I go at what I am about as if 
there was nothing else in the world for the time being. 
That's the secret of all hard working men." Charles 
Dickens said, "Whatever" I have tried to do in my life, 



352 BE A TEN PA THS. 

I have tried with all my heart to do it well. What- 
ever I have devoted myself to, I have devoted myself 
to completely. Never to put one hand to any- 
thing on which I would not throw my whole self, and 
never to affect depreciation of my work, whatever it 
was, I find now to have been golden rules." 

Life is too short and human ability too limited for 
you to do everything, be everything, and have every- 
thing. You must make your choice and abide by it. 
You can do one thing well, but to attempt a dozen things 
is to do all badly. You can ride one horse without 
falling ; but you cannot ride a dozen without being 
brought unceremoniously to the ground. He that tries 
to be a great statesman, a great inventor, and a great 
poet, will probably succeed in convincing the world 
that he is little more than a great donkey. Put your 
lead into a bullet, and you can fire it through a plank ; 
but put it into small shot, and a child will pick them 
out of the pine with his penknife. 

Our natural disposition is to spread the energies out 
over a wide surface. It is a great deal easier to potter 
away at a number of things than to keep persistently 
hammering away at one. But the easy course never 
wins success in the end. Bend every energy to the oar. 
Let business claims take precedence of all others. Let 
the work of hand, heart, and brain concentrate itself 
along that line of industry which you have chosen. 
Put your whole soul into it. Read all you can 
about it. Study its rise, its development, and the 
way in which at present it fits into the industrial 
world. Let your recreation bring you a renewal of 



BUSINESS-LIFE. 353 

energy to pour into its channels. Make this business 
of yours, in which you propose to do what you can 
for the world, a centre round which the various other 
interests of life may be organized. 

The Earl of Chesterfield declared, " Whatever is 
worth doing at all, is worth doing well." That is how 
the Divine Being works ; and that is how every man 
works who finds his labor bringing him into distinc- 
tion. Sir Joshua Reynolds, on being asked how he had 
managed to attain such excellence in his art, replied, 
" By observing one simple rule, namely, to make each 
painting the best." If we can only carry this spirit into 
our work, whatever that work may be, and endeavor 
to make every product the best of its kind, we may 
look forward with hope and confidence toward enjoy- 
ing a generous degree of prosperity. Thoroughness 
never fails to bring its reward in time, whereas slip- 
shod and indifferent methods of work pave the way 
for failure and disappointment. 

It is said that Washington Allston, while on his way 
to a certain party, suddenly stopped and insisted upon 
returning home, that he might complete some detail 
in his dress, which he remembered had been over- 
looked. He was reminded that the defect was one of 
so unimportant a character that nobody would ever 
perceive it ; but the thought that he himself would be 
conscious of it was intolerable to him. Therein is 
disclosed the spirit of the true artist, the spirit that 
cannot tolerate an imperfection. 

Michael Angelo was one day describing to a visitor 
in his studio certain little finishing touches that he had 



354 BEA TEN PA THS - 

been giving to a statue. " But these are only trifles," 
said the visitor. "That may be so, replied the sculptor, 
"but recollect that trifles make perfection, and perfec- 
tion is no trifle." After all, the main difference between 
the skilled workman and the botch lies in those little 
trifles, which only he who is bent upon executing 
perfect work is likely to estimate at their real import- 
ance. A trifling maladjustment in the mechanism of 
the watch destroys its accuracy ; a trifling blot upon 
the page mars its beauty ; a trifling rent in the robe, 
a trifling conflict in the colors, a trifling fault in the 
metre of the poem, and perfection is ruined ! 

" It was the little rift within the lute, 

That, ever widening, slowly silenced all; 
Or little pitted speck in garnered fruit, 

That, rotting inward, slowly mouldered all." 

Accordingly we find great men conspicuous quite as 
much for their mastery of detail as for their compre- 
hensiveness of plan. Napoleon, it is said, could go 
through the manual of drill for the common soldier 
better than any man in all his armies. Wellington 
counted nothing that contributed to the welfare of his 
troops beneath his notice. " His soldiers' shoes, the 
camp-kettles, rations, horse-fodder, and everything 
pertaining to their equipments was subject to his vig- 
orous personal investigation." Euripides was once 
jeered at by a rival playwright because he had taken 
three days to compose five lines, while the other had 
dashed off five hundred in the same period. " Yes," 
replied Euripides, "but your five hundred lines will be 



BUSINESS-LIFE. .355 

dead and forgotten in three days time, while my five 
will live forever." 

Thoroughness demands training. The eye and the 
hand, the mind and the will, must become habituated 
to their work. The child has no perception of those 
trifling" defects which the skilled workman sees at a 
glance. The trained mind always runs ahead of its 
undisciplined and undeveloped competitor. Its ideals 
are higher, its resources are more ample, its observa- 
tion is more acute, and its judgment more accurate. 
The more knowledge, thought, and culture we can 
bring to the discharge of any business, the greater will 
be our chances of success. Many a specialist suffers 
for lack of general knowledge. Every career brings 
with it a series of unforeseen emergencies that make 
drafts upon the intellectual resources. James A. Gar- 
field found that the study of finance demanded a 
knowledge of French, since the best works on the sub- 
ject were to be found only in that tongue. He accord- 
ingly began the study of the language, and ultimately 
attained a high degree of proficiency in it. No matter 
what your calling may be, you cannot know too much. 
The boy who rushes forth into the affairs of life before 
his schooling is completed, will find himself handi- 
capped at every turn. 

But general knowledge must be accompanied by 
special training. You cannot even drive a nail per- 
fectly without practice. Cicero subjected himself to 
a most rigid course of discipline that he might per- 
fect himself in forensic oratory. Genius has been de- 
fined as a capacity for receiving discipline. The 



356 BE A TEN PA THS. 

apprentice who feels that he has nothing more to 
learn, will never become more than a commonplace 
workman. Until a man reaches his prime, his latest 
work should always be his best. Buying and selling 
are arts, that must be studied just like music and sur- 
gery. Practice is the only thing that ever makes per- 
fect. When we cease to perceive our own defects, the 
desire for improvement dies out, and all hope of pro- 
gress is taken away. 

The trained and observant mind has a decided ad- 
vantage over one of an opposite character, in that it 
can originate new methods and improve upon the old 
ones. What the inventor does for manufacturing, the 
originator of new methods does for commerce. The 
times are always changing ; and the method that was 
perfectly adapted to the fathers is not necessarily 
adapted to the generation that succeeds them. The 
introduction of steam has revolutionized almost every 
ancient industry. Method is simply the way of doing 
anything ; and the best method is that which accom- 
plishes the desired result with the least expenditure of 
time and effort. He that is able to economize time 
and force, through the introduction of new and better 
methods, gains as much in a business way as if he had 
discovered some new plan for economizing money. 

What method does for any one line of work, sys- 
tem does for business as a whole. Methods should all 
be organized under some general plan. By instinct 
the lower orders of creation forecast the seasons and 
lay up supplies against the winter. He that would 
work as happily and successfully as these lower ani- 



B USINESS-L IFE. 357 

mals, must do for himself what nature does so gratuit- 
ously for them. That is to say, he must forecast the 
future, must appreciate its dangers and its opportuni- 
ties, must understand the extent of his own powers, 
and must apportion his labor accordingly. He who 
plans his work in a wise and rational manner will 
accomplish more, and with greater ease to himself, 
than if he were simply to rush about his business in 
an aimless and unintelligent fashion, now doing this, 
again hurrying to that, and then pausing to consider 
what ought to be done next. Bustle is not industry. 
Good housekeepers plan their work beforehand, and 
can tell you just what they propose doing on any par- 
ticular day of the week. The work that is thus planned 
and ordered, goes ahead smoothly, pleasantly, and 
effectively. System saves us from anxiety, and from 
that feeling of being driven and hurried by our work, 
which is so detrimental to thoroughness. 

Much, of course, may be said against system. Sir 
Walter Scott is credited with the statement that he 
had never known, a man of genius who could be per- 
fectly regular in his habits, while he had known many 
blockheads who could. We have all felt what very 
uncomfortable companions those individuals make, 
who have their plans all cut and dried beforehand, 
and who cannot be diverted from their predetermined 
course by any argument that we may bring to bear 
upon them. These human machines, with whom ris- 
ing, eating, working, and praying, all begin and termi- 
nate on the stroke of the clock, can never command 
our admiration. The man who is the slave of his 



358 BE A TEN PA THS. 

system, is like a spider caught in its own web. 
Keep system in its proper place as a servant, and do 
not allow it to usurp the functions of a master. 

But to return again to Sir Walter Scott, we find him 
writing to a young friend in these words : " When a 
regiment is under march, the rear is often thrown into 
confusion because the front do not move steadily and 
without interruption. It is the same thing with busi- 
ness. If that which is not first in hand be not in- 
stantly, steadily, and regularly dispatched, other things- 
accumulate behind, till affairs begin to press all at 
once, and no human brain can stand the confusion." 
Look at the great industrial establishments of the 
country, the great factories, stores, and warehouses, 
the transportation companies, the postoffice — what 
would any of these amount to without system ? Sys- 
tem is that which binds the several parts of a business 
together, and without which it would fall to pieces. 
We make no mistake in endeavoring to profit by its 
assistance, whatsoever may be the work that we have 
in hand. It saves time ; it saves strength ; it saves 
wear and tear on the human machinery ; it holds us 
up, and enables us to jog along contentedly, just as 
Mr. Pickwick was led to believe the shafts sus- 
tained that venerable horse behind which he was rid- 
ing. " He always falls down, when he's took out o' 
the cab," said the driver, " but when he's in it, we bears 
him up werry tight, and takes him in werry short, so 
as he can't werry well fall down, and we've got a pair 
o' precious large wheels on ; so ven he does move, 
they run after him, and he must go on — he can't help it'* 



B USINESS-L IFE. .359 

In particular, system saves us from becoming slaves 
to our own moods, virtually saying to us as the hour 
arrives, " There is your work ; go and do it." You 
know what Dr. Johnson said when asked whether it 
would not be better for a writer to wait until the mood 
for writing came upon him : " No, sir. He should sit 
down doggedly ! " The advice is evidently that of one 
who realized that waiting for moods is, in far too 
many instances, only an excuse for natural indolence. 
There are special seasons when the stream of thought 
and energy flows along with a rush, and when to dash 
off work is almost ecstatic ; but he that is syste- 
matic in his work will profit by these favorable moods 
quite as much as he who is not. Let him sit down 
doggedly ; and by and by the mental machine, that 
now creaks and groans, will begin to hum. Momen- 
tum is something that must be worked up. The river 
would never reach the rapids if it were not content 
to move slowly along where the channel is almost 
level. 

In the discharge of your own predetermined plan, 
as well as in meeting your obligations to others, always 
aim at being punctual. Where you can avoid hurry, 
do so ; but where you cannot avoid it without being 
late, hurry with all the energy there is in you ! There 
is nothing that makes- the creditor feel more kindly 
toward his debtor than for the latter to meet his obli- 
gation on the day that it is due. There is nothing so 
inspiring to a minister as the sight of a well filled church 
when the moment for beginning the service arrives. 
The planets are punctual ; the tides are punctual ; the 



360 BE A TEN PA THS. 

railways are punctual ; the tax-collector is punctual ; 
but the average human being is not. Punctuality is a 
mark of civilization. It indicates that a man has been 
accustomed to live in an environment where things go 
on time. It suggests regular habits, an organized life, 
three meals a day, the carrying of a watch. Punctu- 
ality is the outcome of that fine moral sensitiveness 
which shrinks from plundering another man of his 
time, quite as much as from plundering him of his 
money. Punctuality is something about which the sav- 
age knows nothing. The reason why so many are 
behindhand, is that they are not as yet at a sufficient 
remove, in their development, from the savage state 
of unpunctuality. 

I have already spoken of that thorough knowledge 
which every man should have of his own special in- 
dustry. The silk-merchant should understand every- 
thing about silks, and the iron-monger should know 
all about iron. But there is knowledge of another 
kind without which no great enterprise is likely to be 
successful, namely, knowledge of human nature. 
Every manufacturer, every merchant, every profes- 
sional man, is compelled to deal with this element in 
almost all his transactions. A great number of the 
failures that we see, arise from not understanding how 
individuals will act under such and such circumstances. 
You can cut a block of granite into any shape you 
wish ; but granite is soft as compared with men and 
women. There is nothing so difficult to manage as 
human nature. It eludes, surprises, and antagonizes 
us at every turn. The man who can train a fractious 



BUSINESS-LIFE. 36 1 

colt and eventually turn it out a prosaic and reliable 
roadster, finds himself perfectly at sea in his efforts to 
control a little child. He who could walk up to the 
mouth of a loaded cannon without a tremor, blushes 
and wilts before a woman's tongue. The ability to 
approach men with tact, to read their thoughts at a 
glance, and to so adapt ourselves to them as to gain 
the result we desire, has a value that cannot be ex- 
pressed in figures. When to use argument and when 
to use force, when to be winning and when to be stern, 
when to forgive and when to threaten, are lessons that 
can never be learned from books. And yet these les- 
sons must be learned by all who would be successful. 

You have chosen your business ; you have laid 
your plans ; and now the question is, Can you go on 
laboring until the success you desire crowns your efforts? 
There will be many obstacles for you to overcome ; 
there will be many disappointments and discourage- 
ments for you to meet ; and you will always find it easier 
to relinquish your efforts than to persevere in them. But 
will you persevere? Everything depends upon that. 
" If I am building a mountain," said Confucius, " and 
stop before the last basketful of earth is placed upon 
the summit, I have failed." 

When Carey, the eminent missionary, was a boy, he 
was one day climbing a tree, when his foot slipped and 
he fell to the ground, breaking his leg by the fall 
But after the fracture had set, and he was permitted 
to go abroad once more, the very first thing he did 
was to climb that tree. 

Among the traditions of one of the great manufac- 



362 BE A TEN PA THS. 



turing firms of Glasgow is the following story. 
Thirty years ago a barefoot, ragged boy presented 
himself before the desk of the principal partner, and 
asked to be employed as an errand boy. 

"There's a deal o' running to be dune," said the 
gentleman jestingly, adopting a broad Scotch accent, 
" and your first qualification wud be a pair o' shoon." 

The boy nodded gravely and disappeared. For 
two months he lived by doing odd jobs in the market, 
and slept under one of the stalls. At the end of this 
time he had saved enough money to buy the shoes, 
and presenting himself again in the office, held out his 
purchase and said quietly, 

" I have the shoon, sir." 

" Oh ! " exclaimed the merchant, trying to recall the 
previous interview ; " you want a place, don't you ? 
But not in those rags, my lad ; you would disgrace the 
house." 

The boy hesitated for a moment, and then withdrew 
without saying a word. It was another six months 
before he returned, thin and pale from having stinted 
himself of food, but decently clad. The manufac- 
turer's interest was now aroused ; but he found on 
questioning the boy, that he could neither read nor 
write. 

11 It is necessary that you should do both before we 
could employ you in carrying home packages," said 
he ; " at present we have no place for you." 

The boy's face grew paler, but he did not complain. 
For another year he found work in some stables near 
to a night-school, and at the end of the twelve- 



BUSINESS-LIFE. 363 

month he presented himself again in the office. 

11 1 can read and write," said he. 

" I gave him the place," said the employer, telling 
the story many years afterward, " I gave him the place 
with the conviction that he would take mine if he made 
up his mind to do it. Men rise slowly in Scotch busi- 
ness houses, but he is now our chief foreman." 



XVI. 
RECREATION. 



"If those who are the enemies of innocent amusements had the 
direction of the world, they would take away the spring and youth, the 
former from the year, the latter from human life." — Balzac. 

1 ' Sweet recreation barred, what doth ensue 
But moody and dull melancholy, 
Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair, 
And, at her heels, a huge infectious troop 
Of pale distemperatures and foes to life? " 

— Shakespeare. 

" If you will have a model for your living, take neither the stars, for 
they fly without ceasing, nor the ocean that ebbs and flows, nor the river 
that cannot stay, but rather let your life be like that of the summer 
air, which has times of noble energy and times of perfect peace." 

— Hamerton. 

ORD Macaulay declares that the 
Puritans objected to the sport 
of bear-baiting, not so much 
because it hurt the bear v as 
because it amused the specta- 
tors. This Puritan sternness is 
only the outgrowth of that 
ascetic spirit which has come down to us from ancient 
times, and which has always manifested a disposition 
to brand amusements as evil: the more enjoyable 
they were, the more sinful were ■ they supposed to be.. 
Pleasure of any kind was regarded with suspicion. 




RECREA TION. 367 

Pascal forswore all condiments and spices, and would 
not permit himself to consciously relish the few mor- 
sels of food by which he kept soul and body together. 
He even rebuked a mother for kissing her own child, 
and adopted an artificial harshness of manner toward 
his devoted sister with the express purpose, as he 
avows, " of revolting her sisterly affection." And lest, 
in spite of all these precautions, joy should in some 
way find an entrance into his life of immolation, he 
wore under his clothes a girdle of iron spikes, that 
could be struck in against his fleshless ribs whenever 
he felt himself in danger of becoming happy. 

As instancing the ascetic spirit that has prevailed in 
Protestant quarters, a story is told of the Rev. John 
Colquhoun, of Leith, who played quite a prominent 
part in the religious affairs of Scotland during the. 
early part of the present century. " On one Sacra- 
ment Sunday morning, his wife, being desirous to have 
him nicely rigged out for the occasion, had his coat 
well brushed, his shirt as white as snow, and his bands 
hanging handsomely on his breast ; and when she sur- 
veyed her gudeman, she was so delighted with his 
comely appearance that she suddenly took him round 
the neck and kissed him." But the reverend gentle- 
man "was so offended by this carnal proceeding, that 
he debarred his wife from the sacrament that day ! " 
Now, it was in an atmosphere of this kind, an 
atmosphere charged with asceticism, that the opinions 
of the church on the subject of amusements were de- 
veloped ; and these opinions, among others, have 
descended to us. Whenever the subject of popular 



368 BE A TEN PA THS. 

recreations is broached in religious circles to-day, tin 
anticipation is that they will be soundly denounced 
The ascetic disposition still asserts itself in Christen- 
dom, and looks askance at all sports that have an in- 
terest and attraction for the people. 

If this asceticism is not of the devil, I do not knov^ 
whence it arises, for it certainly is not of Christ. The 
Son of Man scandalized the religious ascetics of His 
times because He came " eating and drinking." The 
first miracle that He performed was wrought that the 
festivities of a marriage feast might be prolonged ; 
the model of discipleship that He placed before His 
followers was a little child, with all its innocent and 
sportive impulses still unconquered ; and He Himself 
repeatedly sought rest and recreation amid the soli- 
tude of the hills, or in the cheer and fellowship of such 
congenial homes as that of Lazarus at Bethany. 

In the young of all the higher orders of creation, 
the play impulse gives striking manifestation of its 
presence and its power. Birds play, lambs play, dogs 
play, horses play, and even the monsters of the seas 
leap clear above the waves in their ungainly sports. If 
the lower animals may play, why may not man do so? 
Why should his life be less joyful and unconstrained 
than theirs? 

Certainly, if anything is to be inferred from the in- 
stinctive workings of human nature, God plainly 
intended that human beings should play. The race 
craves recreation, just as it demands food and cloth- 
ing. The child takes to sport as naturally as the 
duck takes to water. It is as much his na- 



RECREATION. 369 

ture to play as it is part of a kitten's nature 
to whirl round and round in the effort to catch 
its own tail. The boy has to play ; he cannot 
sit still. When a young beginner in natural his- 
tory was asked to define a monkey, he declared, " A 
monkey is a small boy with a tail on." It is the nature 
of both these creatures to be comically, and some- 
times annoyingly, active ; but the monkey has the 
advantage of the small boy by virtue of the tail. 

This sportive impulse is never lost. It may become 
modified and subordinated to the other principles of 
our nature, but it does not disappear. When a man 
declares that he takes no interest in play, he is to be 
suspected of hypocrisy, illness, or insanity. This be- 
comes the clearer as we seek to define the peculiar 
nature of play as distinguished from work. Work is 
the expenditure of energy for the sake of realizing 
some ulterior end ; play is the expenditure of energy 
for the very joy of spending it. The boy goes through 
quite as much exertion in a single game of base-ball 
as in sawing a cord of wood ; but parental sophistry 
is powerless to persuade him that sawing wood is 
simply amusement. 

In the development of civilization, the fine arts have 
their origin in this play impulse of the race. In them 
the mind energizes for its own satisfaction, and for no 
ulterior end. The early artist makes his sketches, and 
the early musician pipes upon his reed, simply to grat- 
ify their own inborn tendencies. There is no money 
in the procedure, but there is play in it. It is signifi- 
cant that in the changes of language, the word play 



3 JO BE A TEN PA THS. 

still survives in our English speech as the distinctive 
name for musical action : we are said to play upon the 
piano or violin. Those young ladies who are chained 
down to a couple of hours' daily and disagreeable 
practice upon the piano may aver that there is no 
play in it ; but it is useless to attempt fighting the 
English tongue. When the soul seeks satisfaction 
through music, it is play ; it is not work. 

Such, then, is our natural instinct, and instinct 
always indicates creative design. Against the ascetic 
tendencies that continue to appear, the propriety and 
righteousness of play need to be emphasized. It is 
part of the Divine plan in the working out of every 
wholesome life. It gives strength to the muscles, tone 
to the nerves, alacrity to the mind, and vigor to the 
will. Play develops the child for the more arduous 
duties of later life. Play gives that relaxation and 
recuperation which are essential to the highest kinds 
of work. The man who plays, remains something more 
than a mere toiler, while he who plods unintermittently 
along in the treadmill of daily routine loses his indi- 
viduality in the great working organism. Play 
breaks through the ice of artificial conventionality, 
dissipates " the blues," promotes good fellowship, and 
furnishes a safeguard against sordidness and avarice. 
Play keeps the heart young and tender amid the cares 
and trials of life. Play summons the soul out of its 
prison-house, strikes off the fetters of restraint, and 
bids it realize itself in glad and spontaneous action. 
The duty of play should be proclaimed from every 
Christian pulpit, as well as the duty of prayer. 



RECREATION. . 37 1 

It is said that there are certain muscles in the human 
countenance which are never exercised except when we 
laugh. They were created for that purpose. When 
they are debarred from their legitimate exercise, the 
character and the countenance deteriorate together. 
It is told of the Rev. Ebenezer Porter, a former Pres- 
ident of Andover Seminary, that on one occasion he 
summoned the senior class to his room and said : 
" My young brethren, your thin and careworn faces 
show plainly enough that you are neglecting the 
Christian duty of an occasional hearty laugh. I pro- 
pose to improve your habits in that particular. Come, 
let us begin ! " Whereupon, to their amazement, the 
worthy President doubled himself up in a spasm of glee, 
and improvised a series of uproarious guffaws. For a 
moment the students stood shocked ; then, one by one, 
struck with the comical absurdity of the scene, their 
rusty risibilities began to act, until the whole body 
were swept at length into contagious, irresistible, and 
prolonged outbursts of mirth. After ten minutes of 
this invigorating exercise, the President remarked, 
" That will do, young gentlemen ; you are now dis- 
missed." The lesson was never forgotten. We owe 
a profound debt of gratitude to the men whose subtle 
wit and roistering humor are strong enough to carry 
us out of ourselves, forcing us to unbend from our 
rigidity, and to drop for a moment the burden of our 
cares. 

The play impulse, like all other impulses of human 
nature, needs to be restrained and controlled. The 
amount and kind of amusement that one should take, 



372 BE A TEN PA THS. 

ought to be determined on rational considerations, 
and the life should be rigidly held within the limits 
prescribed by conscience, wisdom, and good taste. 

There are some amusements, for example, that are 
positively immoral. They may not fall under the ban 
of the law, but society has come to regard them as 
pernicious. The experience of many generations is 
against them ; and he that strives to increase his wel- 
fare by adopting them, virtually flies in the face of 
Providence. What the world unites in condemning, 
it would be folly to espouse. You would not think of 
testing oil of vitriol or corrosive sublimate upon your 
own person, before accepting the statements of men 
concerning them. Why then should you hesitate to 
accept the verdict of the world concerning gambling, 
intoxication, and licentiousness ? 

But there are other recreations with reference to 
whose character society seems to be more or less di- 
vided. It is still an open question whether their ten- 
dency is ennobling or the reverse. What is one to do 
in such cases? What can one do except con- 
sult his own taste and conscience ? We have all heard 
of that inquisitive old lady who was told, when she 
came knocking at a neighbors door while some festiv- 
ities were in progress, " Come in, Mrs. So-and-So, 
come in ; we are just about to have some charades." 
"I knowed it, I knowed it," replied the old lady — 
" smelt 'em clear out to the gate ! " Without saying 
anything as to the moral status of charades, I would 
have you understand that where an amusement is not 
of the best, its tendency is to become so malodorous 



RECREA TION. 373 

that the moral olfactories may detect the corruption 
from afar. 

In all such cases the only safety lies in having a 
moral nature so pure and sensitive that it will lead 
you to turn instinctively away from every pleasure 
in which lurks the taint of evil. Without such moral 
sensitiveness there is no amusement in which you can 
indulge with perfect assurance of safety ; for there is 
none that may not occasionally be perverted and be- 
come a minister of evil. If we would fortify our chil- 
dren against the temptations that lurk in the pleas- 
ures of society, we should direct our efforts toward 
developing and intensifying that moral sensitiveness 
which leads a human being to shrink instinctively from 
what is base and wrong. With that they might pass 
through hell itself in safety ; without it they would not 
be safe even in heaven. 

In choosing any particular amusement for ourselves, 
we should be guided, not only by determining its in- 
herent moral character, but also by considering its 
associations. There are many sports to-day that bear 
an evil name, not because of their intrinsic wrongful- 
ness, but because they have become associated with 
disreputable practices and disreputable men. He that 
engages in them is liable to be led into undesirable 
companionships. One may be on his guard against 
this danger ; but since the very nature of amusement 
is to release us from the necessity of standing on 
guard, this is no easy matter. He that enters the do- 
main of recreation, involuntarily throws aside his 
armor. Men who in business are strict, vigilant, and 



3 74 BEA TEN PA THS - 

suspicious of one another, will, when making an ocean 
voyage or spending a summer among the hills, asso- 
ciate with individuals whose company they would not 
have tolerated for a moment in the more strenuous 
life of the city. 

In particular, one cannot help looking with sus- 
picion on all those forms of recreation, such as a pub- 
lic ball, for example, that admit strangers to our 
society on payment of a fee. It takes something more 
than fifty cents a head to keep society pure. Our 
companionships are of so much more importance to us 
than our amusements, that we should find no difficulty 
in abjuring all recreations that lay us under the neces- 
sity of forming undesirable acquaintances. There is 
something revolting to a sensitive taste in games 
whose associations are of a low order. We cannot 
bring ourselves to cherish the pastimes round which 
thieves and harlots have been accustomed to rally. 
Where there are so many forms of amusement to 
select from, we naturally prefer those whose tone is 
unimpeachable to those that carry about them a smack 
of vulgarity. 

But in seeking to be select in the matter of amuse- 
ment, one need not rush into extravagance. The 
cheaper our pastimes are, the better. To spend lav- 
ishly on mere amusement, is not only unwise and un- 
christian — it is vulgar. Simplicity is an almost 
unfailing mark of good breeding. In this democratic 
age and nation, it ill becomes those who have means 
to set up a standard of extravagance in recreations, 
such as differentiates them at once from the great 



RECREA TION. 375 

masses of the people. If we are to have social divis- 
ions, let them be along the natural lines of cleavage, 
along lines of intellectual, social, and moral affinity, 
rather than along the artificial line of wealth. A wise 
economy in the matter of amusement is to be com- 
mended not only for its prudence, but also for its 
good taste. 

Good taste is, in its own way, quite as exacting as 
conscience in the rules that it prescribes. It demands 
that in choosing our recreations, some consideration 
shall be shown to the customs and opinions of the 
society in which we happen to be living, and that re- 
gard shall be paid to our own social position and to 
our age in life. There is one amusement for the 
child, and another for the full grown man ; one amuse- 
ment for the clown, and another for the legislator ; 
one amusement for the man, and another for the 
woman ; one for the home, and another for the place 
of public resort. 

Apart from good taste, there is no reason why the 
belle of the most select and fashionable society in the 
world should not ride bareback, or go duck-shooting, 
or officiate as captain of a base-ball club. Apart from 
good taste, there is no reason why the woman with a 
silk dress and diamonds in her ears should not enter- 
tain herself by chewing gum in a crowded horse-car. 
I know of no moral law that would prevent the Pres- 
ident of the United States from dancing a clog in pub- 
lic, nor is there any ethical ground on which the distin- 
guished pastor of some metropolitan church could be 
prohibited from riding a hobby-horse on his front 



3 76 BE A TEN PA THS. 

veranda. Good taste, however, may be trusted to 
provide against such emergencies. 

The indispensable thing in all amusements is that 
they shall invigorate us for the work and duties of 
life. Recreation is not true to its name unless it re- 
creates us. Sports that entail late hours and make 
great drafts on the nervous energies, are to be shunned 
like poison. Amusements that plunge us into a fever 
of temporary excitement, only to 

" leave a heart high-sorrowful and cloyed, 
An aching forehead and a parching tongue," 

cannot be abandoned too early. The function of re- 
creation is to increase our vitality, not to diminish it. 
For the purpose of recreating us, out-door pastimes 
take precedence of all others. Pedestrianism, riding, 
cycling, rowing, skating, fishing, hunting, base-ball, and 
tennis are deservedly in favor. The study of natural 
history and the pursuit of amateur photography have 
been found beneficial to the health as well as enter- 
taining to the mind. Whatever takes us away from 
the dingy city into the open fields and beneath the 
sunny sky, makes new creatures of us. The simple 
delights that nature yields us are among the most 
precious things that come to us in this earthly exper- 
ience. We can make life rich by cultivating a love 
for the open air. To see the corn waving and the 
wind sweeping over the waters, to hear the singing of 
the birds and the hum of insect life, to lie in the green 
grass on a summer day and watch the rustling leaves 
and the clouds floating overhead — these are luxuries 



RECREATION. 377 

such as angels might enjoy. Get near to nature's 
heart, if you would feel the beating of that rhythmic 
pulse which throbs in every poem and in every bar of 
music. 

When Dr. Wayland was asked what recreation he 
would recommend, he replied, " Take a walk !" Walk- 
ing gives exercise to the muscles, calls the lungs and 
the heart into vigorous action, charges the blood with 
oxygen and sends it tingling to the remotest part of 
the body, clears the mind, invigorates the will, and 
makes the whole world seem fresh and full of promise. 
Our English cousins will take a fifteen mile tramp 
over the moors, and come home with jubilant spirits ; 
but with us, the walk of a mile or two is little less 
than a feat — especially if it intervene between our 
home and the church on a sultry Sunday morning. 

Every business man ought to have some hobby that 
he can mount as soon as the office door is closed, and 
be carried by it into a region of thought and effort 
remote in every respect from that in which the day 
has been spent. A taste for reading, music, drawing, 
natural science, or even for physical exercise as an end 
in itself, is capable of opening to us new worlds whose 
every experience will prove novel, tonic, and exhil- 
arating. A man need not confine himself to a single 
hobby ; he may keep a whole stable-full, for that mat- 
ter, and ride them all in turn, if his time and means 
permit him to do so. But he that would work to the 
best advantage must avail himself of the stimulus 
that comes from changing his pursuits and interests* 

Some of the pleasantest pages of history are 



378 BE A TEN PA THS. 

those that detail the private and personal life of the 
great, and the manner in which they have found rest 
and recreation from their labors. Wordsworth was 
fond of long pedestrian excursions ; Hans Christian 
Andersen was given to cutting out little paper figures ; 
Gladstone is famous for his zeal in wielding the axe. 
John Todd, author of " The Student's Manual," kept 
one room fitted up with lathes, saws, chisels, and other 
mechanical appliances, in the use of which he became 
quite an expert. Henry Ward Beecher sought recre- 
ation in a number of ways ; now prostrate on hands 
and knees, gloating over some beautiful rugs or rare 
jewels, of which latter he was an enthusiastic collec- 
tor ; now running out to his farm on the Hudson, and 
again joining with uncommon zeal in the romps and 
games of children. On one occasion his wife found 
him rigged out in Cardigan jacket and silk hat, pranc- 
ing up and down the street in front of his house, a 
stick in his mouth to serve as a bit, two strings for 
reins, and a crowd of excited children racing after him 
and shouting their appreciation of the shying, kicking, 
and run-away qualities of the simulated roadster. 

Dean Swift, it is said, used to seek relief by harness- 
ing his servants with cords and driving them up and 
down stairs and through the several rooms of the 
deanery. And the famous Cardinal Mazarin would 
shut himself up in a room and jump over the chairs 
one after another, reserving the most difficult leap for 
the last. Having omitted locking the door on one 
occasion, he was surprised by the entrance of a court- 
ier. It was an embarrassing position for the latter, 



RECREA TION. . 3 79 

who knew how haughty and eccentric was the Cardinal's 
disposition. But with ready tact the young man imme- 
diately assumed the intensest interest in the perform- 
ance, and cried with well feigned enthusiasm, "I will bet 
your Eminence two gold pieces that I can beat that last 
jump!" His words struck the right note, and a con- 
test immediately began, in which the courtier took 
great care not to beat the Prime Minister. He lost 
his two gold pieces, but was consoled not long after 
by the gift of a mitre. 

Whatever form of recreation we adopt, certain it is 
that rest and diversion of some kind are a necessity, 
and that no man can long deny himself of them 
without impairing both his health and his efficiency. 
For this reason the Christian Sabbath deserves the 
most earnest and cordial support of all who have the 
great interests of humanity and civilization at heart. 
It brings to men complete immunity from toil and 
anxiety one day in every seven, and by its sacred 
associations directs their thoughts into a region that 
is apt to be very little explored during the period of 
drudgery and care. For the material, no less than for 
the spiritual interests of the race, the Sabbath is to be 
upheld. Without the rest that it affords, body and 
brain soon give way beneath the incessant strain. It 
interposes a barrier to the complete enslavement of 
the working population, by placing one-seventh of 
their time at their absolute disposal. A man may be 
compelled to execute the wishes of another six days 
in the week ; but on the seventh he is left free to fol- 
low his own inclinations. But more than all, the Sab- 



3 80 BE A TEN PA THS. 

bath is of value because it brings the world at stated 
seasons into the contemplation of the most interest- 
ing, the most inspiring, and the most profitable of sub- 
jects — the truths associated with religion. This recre- 
ative power of the Sabbath on body, brain, and heart, 
is abundantly manifest in human experience. 

There is another phase of the subject to which our 
attention should now be directed, namely this, that 
our recreations are to be regulated not only as to 
quality, but also as to quantity. One of the greatest 
mistakes into which we are liable to fall, is that of 
attaching to recreation an importance which it does 
not deserve, and of spending time upon mere amuse- 
ment that ought to be given to the more earnest 
affairs of life. " The only happiness a great man 
cares about," says Carlyle, " is happiness enough to 
get his work done." Work is the principal thing in 
life, and play is simply the spice that makes it palata- 
ble. To make spice the main article of diet, is to 
vitiate the taste and destroy the power of the sensi- 
bility to communicate pleasure. When indulgence in 
any amusement reaches the point of dissipation, it 
undermines health, intelligence, and character. To 
kill time is to murder our best friend. Even a pro- 
tracted course of reading for mere purposes of re- 
creation, — novel reading, for example, — enfeebles and 
debilitates the mind. The tendency of such excess 
is to generate a depraved appetite for the sensational, 
and a distaste for the saner and more wholesome pleas- 
ures of life. If, after an evening's amusement, you 
come back to the life of duty and find it harder than 



RECREA TION. 3 8 1 

ever before, you may know, of a surety, that that 
amusement is pernicious. Where pleasure ceases to 
be an auxiliary, a servant, it soon grows to be a mas- 
ter, and we become its slaves. 

Amusements, then, are not unaccompanied by dan- 
ger. Those who engage in them are tempted to waste 
in them time and money, health and strength, oppor- 
tunity and character. At the same time, we must re- 
member that simply because a thing is dangerous, it 
is not therefore to be shunned. There is no great in- 
terest of life that is absolutely free from dangers. 
Eating and drinking are dangerous; dress is dangerous; 
society is dangerous ; work, thought, love, and even 
religion itself have their own peculiar dangers. There 
is no occupation in which dangers are not to be dis- 
covered ; there is no place in life in which freedom 
from temptation is secured. The safety of men lies not 
in always searching for a haven into which no storms 
can ever enter, but rather in learning how to manage 
their craft in the midst of the storm, and how to make 
even the storm itself bear them forward in their 
journey. Your safety lies not in running away from 
amusements because they are dangerous, but in learn- 
ing how to use amusements so as to make them con- 
tribute to the great ends of your existence. 

Now, possibly I have not answered some of the 
questions that are uppermost in your minds. I have 
not said, in so many words, whether one may go to 
the theatre, or dance, or play cards. Nor do I pro- 
pose to say what you ought to do in these matters. 
For if you wish to do these things, the opinion of an 



382 BE A TEN PA THS. 

outsider would count for very little in dissuading you 
from them ; and if you have no desire for them, the 
discussion would be altogether irrelevant. More than 
that, no one individual has any right to decide for 
another what he shall do and what he shall leave un- 
done. You are to decide for yourself; the responsi- 
bility cannot be put on anyone else. And my object 
has been to set forth the principles that should enable 
you to make your own independent decision. There 
is no safety in formal rules. The only safety lies in 
possessing an enlightened and sensitive conscience, 
such as will lead you instinctively to shun evil and 
cleave to that which is good. 




THE THREE NEWSBOYS. 



XVII. 
THE PRODUCTS OF THE PRESS. 



" How shall I speak thee, or thy power address, 
Thou god of our idolatry, the Press ? 
By thee religion, liberty, and laws 
Exert their influence, and advance their cause : 
By thee worse plagues than Pharaoh's land befell, 
Diffused, make earth the vestibule of hell ; 
Thou fountain at which drink the good and wise, 
Thou ever bubbling spring of endless lies, 
Like Eden's dread probationary tree, 
Knowledge of good and evil is from thee ! " 

— Cowper. 

HIS is the age of the printing- 
press. If you were asked to 
select that one thing which best 
reveals the characteristics of 
this present age, you could hit 
upon nothing more admirably 
adapted to your purpose than 
one of our great metropolitan newspapers. Our 
varied interests, agricultural, commercial, political, 
and religious ; our ideals, ambitions, and tastes ; our 
energy, inventive genius, and mechanical skill ; our 
powers of thinking, toiling, and organizing, all find 
in it an adequate representative. 

There are men still living who can remember the 
time when the newspaper held but a small place in the 

So 




386 BE A TEN PA THS. 



interest of the world ; but to-day it is the most influ- 
ential thing in Christendom, and no political, social, 
or religious reform can be carried forward without its 
aid. The old question of the debating-schools as to 
the relative powers of the platform and the press, 
now admits of no arguing. From the printing offices 
of America, two and a half billions of newspapers are 
scattered far and wide every year. Where the preacher 
speaks to hundreds, the press speaks to thousands ; 
while the preacher speaks once a week, the press 
speaks seven times ; while the preacher gives two col- 
umns of matter, the newspaper furnishes a hundred. 
It "controls the markets, shapes legislation, initiates 
war or preserves the peace, revolutionizes thought, 
exposes crime, lifts men into power, or overwhelms 
them with everlasting disgrace. Napoleon declared 
that four newspapers were more dangerous than an 
army of a hundred thousand men. 

As a popular educator, the newspaper is without a 
peer. The town library counts as nothing beside it, 
and even the public school seems to be eclipsed by 
its influence. It finds its way into every remote ham- 
let, and proclaims its message in every home. On 
warm days and on wet ones it succeeds in communi- 
cating its lesson quite as well as when the skies are 
propitious. It stops at no obstacles, takes no vaca- 
tions, and never graduates a pupil beyond the pale of 
its influence. 

Like all teachers, it has its faults. Its tone is at times 
dictatorial ; its temper is not always of the sweetest 
nor its words well and wisely chosen. Nevertheless, 



THE PRODUCTS OF THE PRESS. 387 

it preserves its character as a teacher, and is, even at 
its worst, head and shoulders above the crowd to 
which it ministers. It uses better English than its 
average constituent, represents broader and more un- 
selfish interests than are pertinent to any one man or 
community, and in its reports of the most toothsome 
scandals is far more chaste in speech than the average 
lounger about the streets. Even when we least relish 
its manners or its doctrines, we can hardly bring our- 
selves to commit an act of mental suicide by 
stopping our subscription. 

No man can afford to be without the newspaper. If 
you wish to know how to buy, how to build, how to 
dress, how to travel, how to get married, how to go 
into business, how to educate a child, or how to se- 
cure a political office, read the newspaper. The 
newspaper does more to save men from becoming 
dreamers, theorists, and eccentrics than any other 
agency. It brings us into touch with the world's life 
once in every twenty-four hours, flings the mind into 
the current of practical affairs, grinds off the offen- 
sive corners of its individuality, and turns us out pol- 
ished, sensible, and practical before we are aware of 
what has been accomplished. If you would discover 
the queerest, " crankiest," and most unpractical man on 
the face of the earth, find the one who does not read 
the newspaper. 

Philip Gilbert Hamerton puts the case strongly in 
these words : " To live as a member of the great white 
race of men, the race that has filled Europe and 
America, and colonized or conquered whatever other 



388 BE A TEN PA THS. 



territories it has been pleased to occupy, to share 
from day to day its cares, its thoughts, its aspirations, 
it is necessary that every man should read his daily 
newspaper. Why are the French peasants so bewil- 
dered and at sea, so out of place in the modern world ? 
It is because they never read a newspaper. And why 
are the inhabitants of the United States, though scat- 
tered over a territory fourteen times the area of 
France, so much more capable of concerted political 
action, so much more alive and modern, so much more 
interested in new discoveries of all kinds and capable 
of selecting and utilizing the best of them ? It is be- 
cause the newspaper penetrates everywhere ; and even 
the lonely dweller on the prairie or in the forest 
is not intellectually isolated from the great currents of 
public life which flow through the telegraph and the 
press." 

As a moral force, the newspaper has only begun to 
realize its opportunity and its mission. It is upon the 
ethical side that its greatest weakness is discoverable. 
Not without reason do men find fault with its disposi- 
tion to pander to the depraved tastes of the rabble. 
Its prurient longing for the sensational, its flippant 
treatment of high and holy themes, its offensive and 
unwarranted personalities, and its perversion of the 
truth for partisan ends, are deserving of the severest 
censure. The future development of the newspaper 
will undoubtedly be along ethical rather than practi- 
cal lines. As a collector and disseminator of the 
news, it is all that can be expected ; but in its method 
of dealing with the great questions of the hour, there 



THE PRODUCTS OF THE PRESS. 389 

is still left to it a considerable margin for improve- 
ment. 

In this respect, however, the newspaper simply par- 
takes of that imperfection which is common to all 
earthly agencies and institutions. Our laws and cus- 
toms, our social and political institutions, our munici- 
pal councils, courts of law, and legislatures, and even 
our colleges and churches are discovered to be very 
imperfect things by every Diogenes who chooses to 
flash the light of his lantern upon them. It would be 
singular if in this imperfect world there were to be 
found a perfect newspaper. 

We look for better things in the future, but this 
should not make us unappreciative of the good things 
that we already have. The worst newspaper that 
simply publishes the news, does something for the 
moral elevation of the community. It broadens men, 
liberalizes them, gives them a vision of the world's 
life and a glimpse into the ways of Providence, tears 
away the mask from evil and reveals it in all its loath- 
some deformity, and by its stories of what men suffer 
and enjoy it schools the heart into sympathy with 
every fellow being. A famine in China, a shipwreck 
off the Newfoundland coasts, an assassination in New 
York, an eviction in Ireland — pain, toil, and loss — 
the story of the world's anguish is brought straight to 
our homes and laid upon the breakfast-table fresh 
every morning. And the human soul, true to its di- 
vine instincts, responds with pity or with indignation. 
He who can read the newspapers without a thrill, a 
shudder, a tear, a prayer, must have a heart of stone. 



390 BE A TEN PA THS. 

They are doing as much as any other agency to make 
us realize that the world is a unit, and that every man 
upon it is our brother with whom we are to rejoice or 
to weep. 

What papers are you to read, and how shall you 
read them? Commend to me that newspaper which 
tells the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the 
truth. When you succeed in finding such a journal, 
publish the fact, and your name will go down to future 
generations as that of a great discoverer. There are 
papers, however, that try to speak the truth always, 
and that succeed as well as can be expected in the 
present age of the world. But there are others that 
may always be counted upon to suppress and distort 
facts in the interest of their own favorite doctrine, 
sect, or party. The paper that attempts to defraud 
you of the truth is trying to steal your most valuable 
inheritance. 

I regret to say that to this latter class belong some 
of the so called religious newspapers. For the acute 
twisting of evidence, for unscrupulous partisanship 
and sanctimonious dishonesty, for rancor and vindic- 
tiveness, the low grade religious newspaper equals 
anything that is to be found. There are other reli- 
gious journals, however, whose candor, charity, and be- 
nignity bring a benediction upon every home into which 
they find an entrance. The tone of every religious 
periodical should surely be such that one might sup- 
pose it had come direct from the printing-offices of 
Heaven. 

Read that paper which, while always trying to tell 



THE PRODUCTS OF THE PRESS. 39 1 

the truth, gives emphasis to those interests that 
are intrinsically the most deserving. A journal that 
allows six columns to a prize-fight and six lines to the 
meeting of some great scientific or philanthropic 
body, is not of the highest grade. There are some 
events that are simply of passing moment, and there 
are others that will shape the course of civilization 
for years to come ; and you make no mistake when 
you choose that newspaper which places the emphasis 
in the right place. Few indeed are the journals that 
do not give too much space to practical politics, 
as if humanity had little or no interest in any other 
subject. 

Look well to the morals and manners of the jour- 
nal that you propose to introduce to the privacy of 
your home. It is as much of a disgrace to be found 
reading a low-grade newspaper as to be found in the 
company of a bar-room loafer. Shun all communi- 
cation with the sheet that you could not permit your 
mother, your sister, or your daughter to read. Seek 
a paper that has some reverence for the great things 
of heaven and earth. The journal that alludes to sen- 
ators, judges, and other dignitaries as Tom, Bill, and 
Jack, is a disgrace upon our American civilization. 
The reader is compelled to share with the editor the 
responsibility for this cheap vulgarity. If there were 
no market for slang, for petty and malicious gossip, 
and for irreverence, the newspapers would be slow to 
furnish these things. So long as a newspaper is a 
commercial enterprise, its tendency will be to pander 
to the crowd. Do all that you can to encourage truth- 



392 BE A TEN PA THS. 

fulness, purity, and reverence in the press, by select- 
ing that journal of which these things are charac- 
teristic. 

You have your paper ; now, how shall you read it ? 
Read it with the express purpose of finding out the 
news and interpreting its significance. Sift the wheat 
from the chaff. Learn how to skip and how, from a 
sentence or two, to get at the gist of an article. Glance 
at the head-lines, taste a little here and there, and 
skim off only the cream. On an average there will 
not be more than one or two important events in the 
course of the twenty-four hours ; and why should you 
ruin your mental digestion and destroy your memory 
by attempting to read everything, and then forgetting 
it as fast as it is read ? The newspaper furnishes an 
elaborate bill of fare, with the idea of suiting a great 
variety of tastes. Let your taste be such as to guide 
you infallibly to the best things, and leave the rest 
untouched. A half hour a day should be quite suffi- 
cient to keep you posted on current events. 

After the newspapers come the magazines. The 
monthly or quarterly Review has leisure to observe 
and reflect; hence the statements of these periodicals 
on most matters of present moment are entitled to 
greater weight than the hurried reports and editorials 
of the newspapers. The development of the maga- 
zine has been such that at present every number is 
virtually a little library in itself— a dozen booklets, or 
articles, all bound up together, each having an interest 
for some special class of readers. 

The work that our American magazines have done 



THE PRODUCTS OF THE PRESS. 393 

in the way of disseminating culture among the masses 
and affording encouragement to literature and art, 
furnishes a ground for national pride. Many of these 
periodicals have maintained a grade of literary excel- 
lence quite above the average of that found in the 
ordinary public or private library. In remote com- 
munities, where people have no access to books or 
pictures, the advent of the monthly magazine does 
much to supply the deficiency. In all such cases, 
where it seems almost impossible to be scrupulously 
select in the matter of intellectual diet, the best of our 
monthlies may profitably be read through from cover 
to cover. 

But where there is no dearth of books, and the very 
choicest literature of all times is placed at one's dis- 
posal, the magazine should be rigidly prohibited from 
receiving such a monopoly of time and attention. It 
may seem a much more difficult feat to skim its pages 
and preserve the cream of their contents than to cull 
the most valuable things from the daily newspaper. 
Nevertheless, where the bent of one's literary taste is 
already determined, the magazine has but little to 
offer. The one or two articles in which you have a 
special interest may be read with care ; but you will 
lose nothing by bestowing a mere passing glance upon 
the remainder. 

Before leaving the department of periodical litera- 
ture, let me say that among the most interesting and 
important things to be found in the newspapers and 
magazines are the advertisements. Wherever there 
is a live man in the land, doing good and acceptable 



394 BEA TEN PA THS ° 

work in commerce, in agriculture, in manufacturing, in 
education, or in literature, you are almost sure to 
come across his name among the advertisements. The 
news columns tell us only of the extraordinary things 
that are happening ; the advertisements tell us of the 
world's routine. 

Those who think that none but editors and reporters 
are capable of misconstruing facts, must surely have 
neglected to read the advertisements. One of the most 
interesting of studies is to take up this motley com- 
pany of advertisers, and note how each one makes his 
bow to the world, and solicits attention to his spe- 
cialty. Where you find a man advertising his little 
business as if it were the grandest thing on earth, you 
not only receive some conception of the business itself, 
but you also obtain a very adequate idea of the man 
who is at the head of it. 

Frank R. Stockton, whose subtle humor has given 
delight to many readers, suffered at one time from 
severe pain in the eyes, and was prohibited by his 
physician from reading anything. The first day that 
he was allowed to spend a half-hour in his library, his 
friends were curious to discover what he would select. 
"Give me some advertisements!" said he; and in 
answer to the shout of laughter that greeted this re- 
quest, he repeated, "Yes, I am pining for advertisements. 
My wife has read everything else aloud to me, but I 
had not the heart to ask her to read the advertise- 
ments." 

The reading of this transient literature is attended 
with several dangers, against which you must be on 



THE PRODUCTS OF THE PRESS. 395 

your guard. Unless you hold yourself well in hand, 
it is sure to make serious inroads on your time. It 
requires no small effort of will to throw the newspa- 
per aside after a half hour's reading, and to betake 
oneself to some more strenuous form of intellectual 
effort. More than this, the magazines, with their 
pithy, dashing, positive way of treating the great 
questions of the day, are apt to discourage us from 
reading the heavier and more extended dissertations 
on these subjects that are to be found in books. This 
induces a superficial habit of mind and a distaste for 
the careful weighing and balancing of arguments, and is 
liable to issue at last in flippancy, arrogance, and dog- 
matism. We complete our investigations of the doc- 
trine of the Trinity in the course of a ten page arti- 
cle, and become firm adherents to the doctrine of 
free trade through the persuasions of a half-column 
editorial. 

The truth suffers under such treatment ; it is never 
to be won without thorough and painstaking investi- 
gation. These transient articles are good in their place, 
but they can never give you such mastery of the subject 
under consideration as is attained by him who reads 
the standard books on both sides of the question. 
Never permit yourself to take your ideas second hand 
from any editor or reviewer. Go to original sources ; 
investigate and reflect for yourself; and allow your- 
self ample time for the developing and perfecting of 
your opinions. 

But probably the greatest danger in reading this 
transient literature is that the memory will become 



396 BE A TEN PA THS. 

seriously impaired through the habit of continually 
pouring into the mind a mass of unimportant mater- 
ial which is immediately allowed to escape from it. 
While devouring the contents of the newspaper and 
the magazine, the memory is rarely summoned to its 
work, and consequently when more important matters 
are being pondered, it is apt to prove listless and in- 
efficient. Indeed, the habit of reading in a purpose- 
less and idle way proves debilitating to the whole 
mental system. 

To offset these dangers one should resolutely con- 
fine the main part of his reading to books. A book 
represents the finest and highest ministry which the 
press can render to our modern life. Generally speak- 
ing, every book confirms the law of the survival of 
the fittest. The newspapers are destroyed, but the 
fittest things in them survive in the form of history. 
The magazine is thrown aside at the end of the month, 
but its best articles are usually recast, and reappear 
in the form of books. The very advent of a book 
indicates that one of the aggressive thinkers of the race 
has made a selection of his worthiest thought, and is 
offering that to men. The publisher discards nine- 
tenths of the manuscripts submitted to him, and prints 
only those that have merit enough to give promise of 
repaying the cost of publication. Better than all, 
there is that slow and sure selection of time, by which 
the noblest books of the ages are sifted out from the 
rest and become the classics of the people. Books 
that have had vitality enough to outlast the centuries 
offer a safe investment for our time and toil. 



THE PRODUCTS OF THE PRESS. 397 

That man is pitiable who has not learned to love 
the society of books ; and that is a starved and com- 
monplace life into which they do not bring their min- 
istry. From the intense rush and whirl of the present 
books rescue us, lifting us up to the sublime heights 
of contemplation. In that constant struggle to pro- 
vide for the wants of the animal man books are a per- 
petual reminder of our higher and more enduring 
interests. And when the spirit is wearied with its 
daily round of toil, books come to interest, to instruct, 
and to delight. He that has learned to converse with 
the printed page finds that he has a new world opened 
up to him in which the soul may roam at will, a haven 
of refuge from the trials and limitations of the 
present. 

Every man should own books. To see them stand- 
ing in their accustomed nook, ready to open up their 
treasures to us at a moment's notice, makes one feel 
richer than Croesus with all his fabled millions. Who 
needs ships, warehouses, travel, furniture, dainties, 
when he has books ? Who longs for pageants, courts, 
the society of kings and queens, when he may every 
day escape to Parnassus ? Who can make a better 
investment than to spend the day's wages for the priv- 
ilege of living for years to come in the society of 
Plato, Bacon, and Tennyson? No man is so poor 
that he may not, if he will, have books. " Among 
the earliest ambitions to be excited in clerks, work- 
men, journeymen, and indeed among all that are 
struggling up in life from nothing to something," says 
Henry Ward Beecher, " is that of owning and con- 



398 BE A TEN PA THS. 

stantly adding to a library of good books. A little 
library growing larger every year is an honorable part 
of a young man's history. It is a man's duty to have 
books. A library is not a luxury, but one of the ne- 
cessaries of life." , 

If any man should say that he has not time for 
reading, the answer is that he must make time. Time, 
like money, is limited ; no one ever has enough for 
the satisfaction of every desire. There is no buyer in 
the markets who is not compelled to deny himself 
some things that he may purchase others which he 
deems more desirable. In like manner nobody ever 
has time for accomplishing all that he wishes. We 
" make time," as we say, by giving up the less desira- 
ble things for those that are of more importance. 
You have not time to become a great scholar, and yet 
spend every evening in the ball-room or the theatre ; 
you have not time for becoming an artist, a musician, 
a housekeeper, and a leader in society : then spend 
your time on the highest things, and let the lower go. 
If you cannot read books, and yet devote the even- 
ing to gossiping about the latest moves in the politi- 
cal campaign, give your time to the worthier interest, 
and neglect the other. There are few things more 
necessary than reading. The busiest man in the 
world can always make more or less time for it, if he 
is willing to undergo a few small sacrifices. When 
men say that they have not time for reading, it simply 
means that they care more for other things than for 
books. 

And for real intellectual growth, for culture and 



THE PRODUCTS OF THE PRESS. 399 

stimulus, for the enrichment and beautifying of our 
lives, it is astonishing" how much a limited amount of time 
will accomplish. In this respect, reading is like eat- 
ing: we spend but a small fraction of our time at 
meals, and yet see what it accomplishes ! Without it 
the whole machinery of life would come to a stand- 
still. If we were to spend as much time in feeding 
the mind as in feeding the body, it would probably 
realize all that is needful for the preservation of the 
intellectual life. A single hour a day devoted system- 
atically and uninterruptedly to vigorous reading, 
would prove at the end of a year to have rendered 
invaluable service. 

After you have grown accustomed to it, you can 
with vigorous reading get over at least twenty pages 
of ordinary print in the course of an hour. At such 
a rate you cannot remember everything ; but you will 
be able to remember the most important things, and 
that is all that is necessary. Twenty pages a day, 
with six days' reading a week, would carry you through 
twenty volumes, of three hundred pages each, in the 
course of the year. Even twelve months of con- 
scientious work would at this rate make you a com- 
paratively wise man. 

Unless you have a special inclination toward some 
other line of work, I would recommend you to take up 
a course of reading in general history. History is a 
subject in which everybody is interested. It does not 
demand peculiar talent or training. The study of it 
is to the mind what walking is to the body, an exer- 
cise in which the little child as well as the trained 



400 BE A TEN PA THS. 

athlete may profitably engage. It is the most demo- 
cratic, and at the same time one of the most inspiring 
and liberalizing of studies. It brings one into vital 
fellowship with the greatest characters of the ages 
and into commerce with the moving events of the 
world. Truth is proverbially stranger than fiction. 
The novel holds up no characters so worthy of study 
as those of the real men and women who have 
moulded society, and it contains no incidents so soul- 
stirring as those that have actually taken place in the 
history of the race. History, moreover, should fur- 
nish the most fascinating of all courses of reading ; 
for whereas every other study has but a single well 
defined interest, history deals with all the interests of 
the individual and of society. 

If you begin with some volume that furnishes a 
general survey of the history of the world, you. will 
find that it suggests a progressive course of study 
which it might be well to follow. After reading a work 
or two on the primitive condition of the race, when 
the arts and sciences were just coming into existence,, 
and when the organization of society was just begin- 
ning to develop, you will wish to take up in their 
order the ancient peoples of the East, the Egyptians, 
Chaldseans, and Assyrians, the Phoenicians and the 
Hebrews. Then you will read the story of the two 
greatest nations of antiquity, the Greeks and Romans, 
who have left imperishable memorials of themselves 
in the civilization of the West. After them you will 
read the story of that mediaeval period wherein the 
European nationalities were begotten ; and thus by 



THE PRODUCTS OF THE PRESS. 40 1 

easy gradations you will be brought down to these 
modern times in which the interest culminates. 

A single year's reading will give you a good work- 
ing knowledge of the course of civilization. It will 
tone up the mind, furnish you with a broad and ex- 
alted interest in human life, redeem the days of dull 
monotony, and cultivate in you that habit of reading 
without which no one can hope to play a full part in 
the life of this age of the printing-press. Moreover, 
the study of history will bring you into contact with 
One who, with unseen but mighty hand, has directed 
the currents of the world's affairs, and who, in dis- 
covery and invention, in the development of art and 
science, in the elevation of the people and the pro- 
gress of liberty, in the crowning glories of every 
glorious age, has only rendered Himself more visible 
and more adorable to all His rational creatures. 
" Through the ages one increasing purpose runs," not 
the purpose of nature or of man, but the purpose of 
Him who, in the words of Jean Paul, "being the 
holiest among the mighty, the mightiest among the 
holy, with His* pierced hand lifted empires off their 
hinges, and turned the stream of centuries out of its 
channel, and still governs the ages." 



24 



XVIII. 
THE ART OF READING. 

i 

" O for a booke and a shadie nooke, 
Eyther in-a-doore or out ; 
With the grene leaves whispering overhede ; 

Or the streete cryes all about. 
Where I maie read all at my ease, 

Both of the newe and olde, 
For a jollie goode booke whereon to looke, 
Is better to me than golde." 

— Old English Song. 

" God be thanked for books. They are the voices of the distant and 
the dead, and make us heirs of the spiritual life of past ages. Books 
are the true levellers. They give to all who will faithfully use them, the 
society, the spiritual presence of the best and greatest of our race." 

Channing. 

OLERIDGE divides readers 
into four classes. He says : 
"The first class of readers may 
be compared to an hour-glass, 
their reading being as the sand ; 
it runs in and runs out, and 
leaves not a vestige behind. 
A second class resembles a sponge, which imbibes 
everything, and returns it in nearly the same state. 
A third class is like a jelly-bag, which allows all 
that is pure to pass away, and retains only the 
refuse and dregs. The fourth class may be compared 





"STUDIOUS LET ME SIT. 



THE ART OF READING. 405 

to the slave of Golconda, who, casting aside all that 
is worthless, preserves only the pure gems." We are 
to consider in this chapter, that method of reading 
which shall enable us to become members of this fourth 
class, retaining all that is precious and casting the 
worthless material away. 

The first thought that comes to us is that the valu- 
able part of literature, which Coleridge likens to the 
gems of Golconda, constitutes but a small proportion of 
the whole. The bulk of printed matter is nothing but 
refuse. Of the thousands of volumes that fill the 
shelves of our great public libraries, there are only a 
few that hold an undisputed place among the master- 
pieces. The library of the British Museum consists 
of over a million volumes, and the national library at 
Paris contains three times that number. In the lit- 
erature of Germany alone, there are already some 
fifty thousand authors ; and it is estimated that at the 
present rate of increase the time will come when there 
will be more German authors than readers. A com- 
petent authority declares that some twenty-five thou- 
sand new books make their appearance every year ; 
so that he who would keep the run of current litera- 
ture alone must read at the rate of five hundred books 
a week. Under such circumstances it is a comfort to 
know that the most precious things in the literary 
realm may all be gathered within a library of a few 
hundred volumes. 

But we must recognize that what is valuable to one 
man is not necessarily valuable to another. The sand 
w r hich has its use in the hour-glass is cast aside by the 



406 BE A TEN PA THS. 

slave who is searching for diamonds. The book that 
is worth its weight in gold to the veterinary surgeon, 
may be of no use whatever to the lawyer. The volume 
that sends the collector of rare and curious bindings 
into transports, may be valueless to the clergyman or 
the critic. The primer is serviceable to the school-boy, 
but is of no use to one of mature years. The worth 
of any book depends upon the purpose that we set be- 
fore ourselves in our reading. 

Hence the first essential in the art of reading is to 
settle in our own minds the end that we propose to 
realize. For reading cannot be made an end in itself; 
it is only a means to something beyond. Unless it 
does something for us and in us, it is a waste of time 
and effort. Instead of living to read, we should read 
to live. Books, like food and clothing, are useful only 
as they add to the satisfaction and efficiency of life. 

Our purpose in reading determines not only the se- 
lection that we are to make among printed volumes, 
but also the method that we are to adopt in reading 
them. The dictionary is not to be perused like a novel. 
The Critique of Pure Reason is to be read in one way ; 
the prayer-book demands a different style of treat- 
ment. If you wish entertainment simply, you will go 
to one class of literature ; if you are seeking informa- 
tion you will go to another. Tell me what you wish 
to accomplish through your reading, before you 
ask me to say anything as to what and how you are 
to read. 

At first it is perfectly legitimate to read with the 
view of simply forming the reading habit. A taste 



THE ART OF RE A DIXG. 40 7 

for books is quite as artificial in its way as a taste for 
olives or caviare. We grow to relish the printed page 
only after man}" trials and protracted experience. It 
takes a patient and, sometimes, an athletic schoolmis- 
tress to initiate the boy into the mysteries of the spell- 
ing-book. Until the taste for printed matter is fully 
formed within us, the mind has to be coaxed and 
driven to the work of reading. In process of time, 
however, reading becomes so much of a habit that 
we can never remain in the presence of books without 
longing to open them and examine their contents. 

This habit is so valuable that we may well devote 
any amount of time and energy to its acquisition. 
The best wav of forming - it is to work alone; the line 
of least resistance. Read the works that present 
least difficulty, the works that easily put you in pos- 
session of their contents and are of sufficient interest 
to rivet the attention. The child would never learn 
to love reading, if he were compelled to sit down day 
after day to some abstruse work on metaphysics or 
one of the Pauline Epistles. But give the little fel- 
low something light and fascinating, The House that 
Jack Built, or Mother Goose, or Robinson Crusoe, 
and he will learn his lesson quickly enough. There 
are people who would never read a line, if they were 
confined to Emerson and Herbert Spencer ; but let 
them have Dickens or Scott or Cooper, and it is not 
lone before thev bee/in to burn the midnight oil with 



a relish 



The Apostle Paul long ago set forth a wise princi- 
ple and one that has very many applications, when, in 



408 BE A TEN PA THS. 

writing to the Corinthian church, he declared, " I fed 
you with milk, not with meat ; for ye were not yet 
able to bear it." When we are just getting into the 
habit of consuming intellectual food, our diet needs 
to be exceedingly light and palatable. But it is to be 
hoped that after a certain age the mind will grow out 
of its swaddling clothes, and feel itself above the min- 
istry of the feeding-bottle and the pap-spoon. The 
sight of full grown men and women endeavoring to 
stay the cravings of the intellectual appetite with the 
thinnest panada of literature is not an attractive 
spectacle. 

As you endeavor to form the habit of reading, con- 
sult your own intellectual appetite and " study what 
you most affect." But remember that the intellectual 
appetite may at times prove an unreliable guide. There 
are abnormal conditions in which the mind may crave 
what is deleterious ; and we should resolutely hold 
ourselves above reading any works, however interest- 
ing, whose moral tone is low, and whose influence is 
prejudicial to the highest interests of life. If you rise 
from a volume feeling that human nature is worse 
than you had ever imagined it to be, that the outlook 
for the world is dark, that the holiest desires of the. 
race are delusive and their most earnest efforts vain 
and unprofitable, you may safely brand that work as 
dangerous in its tendency. Its style may be fascinat- 
ing, and its beauties many and varied ; but you can- 
not afford to run the risk of associating with it, espe- 
cially in this formative period of the intellectual life. 
As you read for the sake of acquiring the habit, take 



THE ART OF READING. 409 

only those works in which you are deeply interested ; 
but take no work, however interesting, that tends to 
pervert the moral taste or to deplete the moral 
energies. 

After we have grown so accustomed to reading as 
to find no irksomeness in drinking in the contents of 
the printed volume, it will be perfectly legitimate for 
us to read 'with the view of receiving recreation and 
entertainment. Literature, like all the fine arts, 
has for its function the communication of pleasure. 
The great poets and novelists are artists, whose crea- 
tions have power to lift us out of our cares and vexa- 
tions into an ideal realm. The poet gives us a clear 
and intense perception of that world of beauty which 
exists on every side of us, and yet to which, amid the 
many duties devolving upon us, we are so apt to be- 
come indifferent ; the novelist, on the other hand, 
gives us an insight into life itself, with its laws, its 
forces, its many and complex interests, its infinite va- 
riety of character and circumstance, its dreams and 
yearnings, its laughter and its tears. In either case 
the printed page is able to carry us through a set of 
experiences wholly different from those in which our 
working hours are passed. 

It is quite as legitimate for us to seek variety and 
recreation in the fields of literature as in any other 
domain. One may often be in doubt as to whether 
an excursion into the country or to some popular re- 
sort would repay the effort and expense involved ; 
but no such doubt can ever enter the mind of him who 
proposes making a little excursion into the literary 



4 1 BE A TEN PA THS. 

realm. Reading offers more pleasure and profit, with 
less expenditure of time and money, than any other 
diversion in which we can engage. Roger Ascham 
tells the following story of Lady Jane Grey. Her 
father and the duchess were one day hunting in the 
park, and rushed past her while she was reading a 
volume of Plato. Her tutor inquired .whether she 
would not like to join the sport; to .which she replied, 
"All the sport in the park is but a shadow of that 
pleasure I find in this book." 

In particular, it may be suggested that the practice 
of reading aloud is one of the most delightful forms 
of recreation that can be introduced into the home cir- 
cle. Let some work be selected in which old and 
young alike may take an interest, some novel, history, 
or record of travel ; and then after the labors of the 
day are over, let one read while the rest listen and 
discuss the topics presented. The delights of reading 
are greatly intensified when others are present to 
share them with us. To read a good book in private 
is like sitting down to a solitary meal. 

A step higher brings us to those who read for the 
sake of information. Nearly all the knowledge and 
wisdom in the world are preserved in print. Reading 
gives us in a few short hours the garnered lessons of 
thousands of years. If you wish to learn how to be 
healthy, how to cook, how to manage an empire, or 
how to appease a termagant wife, you will find the 
wisest methods all prescribed for you in books. If 
you would learn how the world has grown to its pres- 
ent conditions, how the nations have arisen, how the 



THE ART OF READING. 4 1 1 

arts and sciences have developed, how civilization and 
Christianity have been forwarded in their triumphant 
.course, books will impart to you the information you 
desire. Whether your aim is simply to satisfy a nat- 
ural curiosity or to better adjust yourself to the prac- 
tical affairs of life, reading will render you invaluable 
assistance. Books have long memories and tireless 
tongues. They communicate their wisdom as readily 
to the beggar as to the prince, and will discourse to 
you as frequently and as lengthily as you desire. 

In searching for information, read only the best and 
most recent books on the subject in hand. Dr. Arnold 
says, " As a general rule, never read the works of any 
ordinary man, except on scientific matters or when 
they contain simple matters of fact." Of all the his- 
tories written before the present century, Gibbons 
Decline and Fall is the only one on which it would 
pay us to spend time and strength. The works that 
were published before the modern scientific spirit 
came into vogue, are useful only for the book-worm 
or the scholar. Why should we waste time in listen- 
ing to the Sophists, when some philosopher who has 
digested all the past and is in touch with the living pres- 
ent, is willing to converse with us at our bidding ? 

The greatest difficulty that meets those who are 
reading for information consists in remembering what 
is read. The art of remembering depends upon two. 
things, the intensity of the original impression and the 
frequency with which that impression is reproduced in 
consciousness. One of the most valuable lessons we 
can learn is the necessity of preserving close and rig- 



412 BEATEN PATHS. 

orous attention. Some accomplish this by making- 
notes as they read ; others close the book at the con- 
clusion of every paragraph, page, or chapter, and 
make a rapid mental review of the information it has 
given them ; and others, again, seek some congenial 
friend to whom they may impart the knowledge they 
have just acquired. Any method that chains the at- 
tention to the subject in hand, will be found service- 
able ; for the mind is a regular savage, and will be off 
to the fields and woods the moment our grasp upon 
it is relaxed. 

There are few minds, however, upon which a per- 
manent impression can be made by a single read- 
ing. The habit of attention needs to be reinforced 
by the practice of reviewing what is read. If you 
cannot remember all that you wish by simply reading- 
it once, read, read again. Daniel Webster was accus- 
tomed to read and re-read his favorite authors until 
he could repeat their best passages word for word. 
The retentiveness of his memory was a constant 
surprise to those who were privileged to listen to his 
conversations on the famous English writers. He in- 
dicated the method by which this faculty had been 
developed, when, in speaking of his boyhood, he said r 
" We had so few books that to read them once or 
twice was nothing ; we thought they were all to be 
got by heart." 

Attention and repetition will make any memory 
strong in time; while inattention and lack of repeti- 
tion will render it weak and untrustworthy. The 
habit of reading one book after another, only to for- 



THE ART OF READING. 4 1 3 

get them as fast as they are read, makes the mind as 
unretentive of impressions as a piece of india rubber. 
The memory, like all the other intellectual powers, 
grows strong with exercise and weakens with neglect. 
We may seek the society of books not only for the 
information which they impart but also for the aid 
which they render in the formation of our opinions. 
Opinions are built up on facts, and the object in read- 
ing is to find out how different writers interpret the 
facts that are know T n to all. In politics, in religion, 
in domestic affairs, in educational methods, in every 
line of work and on every subject under the sun, there 
is great diversity of opinion. One man thinks the 
world should live without meat, and another argues 
for a mixed diet ; one has the strongest faith in pop- 
ular government, and another extols the divine right 
of kings; one writes in praise of matrimony, and 
another has not enough to say against it ; one is a 
Christian, and another an infidel. You cannot take up 
a book that is perfectly free from opinions. History, 
science, poetry, fiction are full of them ; and even the 
very dictionaries have become infected. Johnson is 
not slow to indicate his political views, defining excise 
as "A hateful tax, levied on commodities, and ad- 
judged not by the common judges of property, but 
-wretches hired by those to whom excise is paid." He 
indicates his antipathy toward the Scotch by describ- 
ing oats in these words : " A grain which in England 
is generally given to horses, but in Scotland supports 
the people." And even the prosaic Noah Webster 
gives his opinion of the dandy by defining him as " A 



414 BEATEN PATHS. 

male of the human species who dresses himself like 
a doll and who carries his character on his back." 
The dullest book is brightened occasionally with the 
sparks of controversy. 

Under these circumstances it is not amiss to suggest 
that whatever we read should be read critically. A 
book is nothing more than the work of a man, and 
the opinions which it enunciates are not entitled to 
oracular authority simply because they appear dressed 
out in print. Bacon says, " Read not to contradict 
and confute, nor to believe and take for granted, nor 
to find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider." 
Every man's judgment ought to be a strong and deli- 
cate scales in which all opinions may be weighed, and 
by which the slightest as well as the strongest degree 
of probability may be determined. If the scales are 
true, there will be many occasions on which the one 
side will go down with a positive thump ; but there 
will be other times when the balance beam will oscillate 
very evenly, and when it will be difficult to discover 
which opinion contains the preponderance of truth. 
John Morley, the English politician and writer, declares, 
"Politics are a field where the choice constantly lies 
between two blunders." 

In reading for the formation of our opinions, we 
should, as a matter of conscience, read both sides of 
every question. Joseph Cook says no man has any 
right to an opinion till he is thirty years of age. It 
would be truer to say that no man has a right to 
an opinion until his judgment is matured and reliable, 
and until he has read the arguments on both sides 



THE ART OF READING. 4 1 5 

of the subject. If you have a strong affinity for one 
set of opinions, be sure to read those of the op- 
posite character. No single man or party is great 
enough, good enough, or broad-minded enough to 
give you the whole truth and nothing but the truth. 
It took four writers to tell the story of the Christ, 
each supplying the defects of the others. We should 
have sufficient faith in human nature to believe 
that nobody who is fairly honest and competent 
can be absolutely and utterly in the wrong. There 
is a germ of truth in all those erroneous views 
which have held a place for any length of time in the 
intellectual life of the race. The systems of thought 
that we most discredit contain an element of good. 

Where, therefore, you find a book or a newspaper 
violently disagreeing with you, be sure that it has 
something valuable to offer. Ponder its arguments 
with the utmost care. But should they eventually ap- 
prove themselves as weighty, think not that for this 
reason one opinion is just as good as another. To 
every subject there is a right side ; and we may always 
discover it by careful and candid examination. 
Agnosticism is only another name for intellectual 
cowardice and indolence. In the political, scientific, 
or theological domains, the most unsatisfactory and 
contemptible position is that of the man who is try- 
ing to find rest on the top of a fence. It takes an 
acute juggler to preserve his balance there for any 
length of time. Opinions are the bones of our spir- 
itual structure. A man without opinions is an intel- 
lectual jelly-fish. 



4 1 6 BE A TEN PA THS. 

As you come to know more and more of books, you 
will realize what service they may be made to render 
in giving tone and discipline to the mind. Works 
that prove quite unpalatable at first may be invalua- 
ble as tonics. If you adopt a line of solid and some- 
what difficult reading, you will discover that through 
it the mind's action becomes greatly improved. For 
this reason the practice of reading works written in a 
foreign tongue is to be commended. True, one may 
always get at their contents more readily through 
translations ; but if the aim in reading is not simply 
to acquire information but also to invigorate the 
mind, the easiest course is not always to be chosen. If 
my object is simply to reach a point two or three miles 
distant as soon as possible, it would be better to take 
a horse and carriage; but if my desire is not only to 
reach this point but also to improve the health, it 
might be better to walk. 

Difficult reading does for the mind what vigorous 
gymnastic exercises do for the body. The most suc- 
cessful literary workers feel the need of pursuing some 
continuous course of study to ward off the evil effects 
of mental dissipation. So far as intellectual growth 
is concerned, one book thoroughly mastered is better 
than a dozen volumes read in an indifferent and su- 
perficial manner. The 'old proverb is a good one, 
" Beware of the man of one book." 

Professor William T. Harris thus describes his study 
of Kant : " I commenced his ' Critique of Pure 
Reason,' with all the strength I could muster, in my 
twenty-third year. After repeated attacks on the 



THE AR T OF READING. 4 1 7 

work, reading a few pages at a time and turning back 
to the beginning again and again, nearly a year had 
elapsed. I could not as yet see clearly what Kant was 
attempting to say. Indeed, I found his style of thought 
so difficult that I did not seem to understand one 
single page of it all. I do not remember that 1 was 
particularly discouraged by all this. I found, to my 
great delight, that I was acquiring a power of reading 
with ease other works that had formerly been very 
heavy and dull. I was gradually training my feeble 
thinking powers, and soon after I had devoted a year 
to the ' Critique ' I broke through its shell and began 
to reach its kernel. It formed a real epoch in my life. 
It seemed to me that I had just begun to find life 
worth living. The year seemed so eventful to me that 
I was accustomed to say, ' I have made an intellectual 
step this year as great as the whole step from birth 
up to the time I began to study Kant' " 

When some favorite volume has been mastered in 
this thorough and painstaking way, the very sight of 
it years afterward will bring stimulus and inspiration. 
You rise in the morning dull and lethargic. The mind 
will not work ; it needs to be toned up. There stands 
your favorite author, and you take down the volume 
from the shelves. You dip into it a little just by way 
of experiment, and put the mind through a pace or 
two to give it exercise. You begin to grow interested. 
The old pages recall the experiences with which they 
have become associated. The energy, the enthusiasm, 
the thrill of conscious power with which you read 
them a year ago come back to you again. From a 



4 1 8 BE A TEN PA THS. 

walk the mind begins to trot, canters, breaks into a 
gallop, and is off like the wind. Thoughts crowd 
upon you. New light seems to flash forth from the 
old and familiar sentences. Promising trains of asso- 
ciation are started at every turn. Every faculty is 
quickened and toned up for the work and enjoyment 
of the day. Precious indeed are these moments when 
the fire of some great genius kindles the mind to its 
intensest glow. 

In a previous chapter we have noticed the function 
that books may be made to discharge in giving culture 
to the mind. Here it will be enough to simply indicate 
that he who reads to acquire culture should keep close 
to the great masters of literature. Homer, Plato, Dante, 
Shakespeare, Bacon, Milton, Goethe — these are the 
kings, and as soon as you have grown accustomed to 
living with them you begin to take on the manners of 
the palace. They teach you how to conduct life in a 
noble and royal way. 

The kings may be counted on the fingers ; the 
lackeys run up into the millions. If you find it diffi- 
cult to understand and enjoy the conversation of the 
monarchs, begin with that of the servants in the palace 
kitchen. Plato is too difficult for you: try Samuel Smiles. 
Shakespeare does not interest you : perhaps Sir 
Walter Scott or Longfellow will. In seeking culture, 
however, you must climb as soon as possible from the 
lower books to the higher ones. Do not stand in the 
kitchen jabbering with the milkmaid, when you may 
go into the great hall of the palace and converse with 
the king himself. 



THE ART OF READING. 419 

There are a dozen books in the world that are 
worth reading and re-reading a thousand times over ; 
there are a million that are worth reading once. For 
purposes of culture, give me the dozen books dog- 
eared, thumbed, and grimed with constant service 
rather than a huge library of smart looking volumes 
all dressed out in the gaudiness of unsoiled gilt and 
morocco. The courtiers crowd about the kings and 
impede the access of the people. The best books are 
the very ones least known by the masses. Miss Su- 
periority asks you whether you have read the latest 
novel. She believes that you have not, and thinks to 
humble you with her question. But you may turn the 
tables very effectively by enquiring, Have you read 
Paradise Lost? 

Who can be content to live on turnips when he has 
learned to feast on tenderloin? Nevertheless a diet 
of nothing but tenderloin would hardly be the best 
thing for health. The mind that, in its zeal for culture, 
confines itself to the few best books is apt to fall into 
diseased and morbid conditions. Culture is only one 
among the many benefits of reading. For intellect- 
ual as for physical health, a mixed diet seems 
to be the best. For the full enrichment of life there 
is a place for the courtiers as well as for the kings. 
Small books and great ones, books of the ages and 
books of the hour, Faust and Helen's Babies and the 
village newspaper all have their uses in the develop- 
ment of the mental life. 

There is a culture of the heart as well as a culture 
of the mind ; and not least among the blessings of 

25 



4 2 O BE A TEN PA THS. 

books is the aid they render in the upbuilding of the 
ethical and religious nature. There are volumes from 
whose pages we invariably rise with an earnest desire 
to know and follow the truth whithersoever it may lead 
us. They make us strong against the solicitations of 
evil and cheerful in the midst of disappointments and 
tribulation. After conversing with them opportunity 
always seems more ample and the world more sweet 
and full of promise. 

Charles Kingsley, speaking of this class of litera- 
ture, declares : " It is wise at night to read — but for a 
few minutes — some books which will compose and 
soothe the mind ; which will bring us face to face with 
the true facts of life, death, and eternity ; which will 
make us remember that man doth not live by bread 
alone ; which will give us before we sleep a few 
thoughts worthy of a Christian man with an immortal 
soul in him. And, thank God, no one need go far to 
find such books. I do not mean merely religious books, 
excellent as they are in these days ; I mean any books 
which help to make us better and wiser and soberer 
and more charitable persons ; any books which will 
teach us to despise what is vulgar and mean, foul and 
cruel, and to love what is noble and high-minded, 
pure and just. In our own English language we may 
read by hundreds books which will tell of all virtue 
and of all praise ; the stories of good men and 
women ; of gallant and heroic actions ; of deeds which 
we ourselves should be proud of doing ; of persons 
whom we feel to be better, wiser, nobler, than we are 
ourselves." Better than all formal manuals of devo- 



THE ART OF READING. 42 I 

tion are the records of those who have risen from the 
natural into the spiritual order, and whose lives have 
been fertile in thought and achievement. 

The delights of reading have been sung almost 
from the dawn of literature. He that has learned to 
love books has opened up to him a fountain of joy 
that flows on in storm and sunshine, in summer and 
winter, in youth and in old age. When the heroes of 
the world pass away to rest in the bosom of God, 
books keep their majestic voices ringing down the ages 
forevermore. The library is a magician's hall wherein 
all the glories of the earth are passed before the en- 
raptured spirit. The pomp of vanished kingdoms, 
the mazy dream of philosophic thought, the immortal 
song-bursts of the heart, the garnered wisdom of the 
sages, are the prize that waits for him who reads. 
Here in this unimposing volume Xerxes holds his daz- 
zling court, and Caesar's mighty legions march with 
thunderous tread unceasing. At a touch blind Homer 
sings his rugged strain again, and Plato probes the 
mysteries of the soul. He that reads, summons the 
wisdom of the ages to the enrichment and adornment 
of life. And when the hearing fails, when the frame 
bends under the weight of years and the hands must 
cease from their labors, books still, as faithful friends, 
continue their priceless ministries. 

Charles Lamb declared that he wished to ask grace 
before reading rather than before dinner. Fenelon 
wrote, " If the crowns of all the kingdoms of the 
empire were laid down at my feet in exchange for 
my books and my love of reading, I would spurn 



42 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

them all." Southey, worn out with his laborious 
literary life, eventually lost his reason and became 
unable to read a word ; yet the recollection of 
what books had done for him still remained so 
vivid that he would spend hours in his library strok- 
ing the dumb volumes, patting them as he would the 
head of a little child, and laying his face tenderly 
against them. 

Surely it was something deeper than empty sentiment 
that led Prescott, the historian, to request that, when 
arrayed for the grave, his body might be left alone in 
the library in presence of those volumes that he had 
learned to love so well. There, rank upon rank, as 
from sepulchral urns the spirits of the mighty dead 
gazed down upon him, and like a cluster of stricken 
friends seemed to say their last good-bye. With still 
greater justice a lover of books in our own generation 
declares that when he comes to leave this present scene, 
he will wish but one book for his dying pillow. In 
that most solemn hour of human experience all other 
volumes sink into insignificance, and that one which 
claims a Divine origin and is filled with Divine conso- 
lations, becomes the stay and portion of the soul. 
There are many books fitted to interest, to delight, 
and to improve; there is only one that can bring rest 
and triumph in the hour of dissolution. 



XIX. 
CONVERSATION. 

" Speech is but broken light upon the depth 
Of the unspoken ; even your loved words 
Float in the larger meaning of your voice 
As something dimmer." 

— George Eliot. 

"Language is a solemn thing; it grows out of life — out of its 
agonies and ecstasies, its wants and its weariness. Bvery language is a 
temple, in which the soul of those who speak it is eushrined." 

— O. IV. Holmes. 

" Think of all you speak ; but speak not all you think ; 
Thoughts are your own ; your words are so no more. 
Where Wisdom steers, wind cannot make you sink ; 
Lips never err, when she does keep the door." 

— Delaune. 




Y many it is asserted that con- 
versation is a lost art. They 
point to the literary and social 
circles of past generations, and 
ask triumphantly where any- 
thing to equal them may be 
found to-day. That merry set 
which gathered in the Mermaid Tavern, when Shakes- 
peare and Ben Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, Doc- 
tor Donne and Sir Walter Raleigh, discussed the 
topics of the times over their pipes and wine, has been 
used once and again to throw the conversationalists 



426 BE A TEN PA THS. 

of the present into humiliating eclipse. The brilliant 
court of Louis Quatorze, wherein graceful sally and 
sharp home-thrust, witty conceit and polished epi- 
gram, were as plentiful in the conversation of king 
and courtiers as jewels in the royal crown, has been 
conjured up, like a long forgotten ghost, to point a 
finger of reproach at the sterile conversation of to- 
day. The subtle wit of Charles Lamb, the efferves- 
cing humor of Sydney Smith, the elephantine common 
sense of Doctor Johnson, and the copious and instruc- 
tive flow of Macaulay's discourse are undoubtedly 
hard to match with anything that we have in the 
present. 

Those who call our attention to these vanished 
glories, are accustomed to ascribe the prosaic plain- 
ness of our modern speech to the introduction of the 
printing-press. Jokes now have a market value, and 
epigrams are as precious as pearls. Under our pres- 
ent system, when every publisher is searching the lit- 
erary firmament for some undiscovered planet and 
everv editor is more clamorous than the Athenians 
of old for some new thing, one is hardly disposed to 
spend weeks in elaborating "impromptu" jokes, 
simply to grace the conversation of the dinner-table 
or the ball-room. We may as well admit that the 
conditions of the present are not such as to encourage 
that process of conversational legerdemain which 
flourished in a former generation, and by which 
ancient and grayheaded sayings that had been 
carefully matured in private, were suddenly thrust 
upon society as babes new-born. Who could be per- 



COX VERSA TION. 427 

suaded to wait fifteen years, as Sheridan did, for the 
opportunity of saying, " The gentleman has trusted to 
his memory for his illustrations and to his imagination 
for his facts ! " Where a man has good things 
to say, he naturally prefers to publish them to ten 
thousand people at ten dollars a column, rather than 
to a select half-dozen at his own expense. 

Undoubtedly the printing-press has something to 
answer for. But the force of the argument is abated 
by remembering that in that broader arena which is 
furnished by the press to-day, the Johnsons, Sydney 
Smiths, and Macaulays are sought in vain. If their 
voices have ceased in the drawing-rooms it certainly 
is not because they have betaken themselves to the 
periodicals. Indeed, one would be safe in asserting 
that in proportion to our achievements in literature 
we have as many brilliant conversationalists to-day 
as were to be found in any preceding age. Notwith- 
standing the immense drafts that are made upon the 
intellectual energies by the modern press, there is 
still many a mind so copious in its resources and so 
prolific in its creative power, as to afford unbounded 
entertainment to all that come within its range. 

I have no fears that the art of printing will eventu- 
ally reduce us to a race of dummies. For centuries 
the press has been extending its influence at an amaz- 
ing pace ; but there is no merchant in the land that 
does not value the power of a personal interview 
above the power of a printed advertisement ; there 
is no lover but knows that soft and honeyed words 
have a witchery that paper and ink cannot acquire ; 



428 BE A TEN PA THS. 

there is no Christian worker that does not place a 
greater premium upon personal conversations than 
upon the distribution of printed tracts. There is not 
one of us who would not prefer to have some great 
man converse with us than to simply read his books. 
The press reaches a wider circle, and thus gains a 
more extensive influence ; but when it comes into di- 
rect competition, the power of the living voice is in- 
finitely more intense. 

When you consider not only the power but also the 
beauty of speech, conversation must be placed upon a 
lofty pedestal. Homer defines the race as " word- 
dividing " men. In contrast with the lower animals, that 
utter only inarticulate sounds, man is a word-divider ; 
and the hero of the race should be he who performs 
this most characteristic action in an ideal manner. No 
beauty of feature, no grace of person, no prowess of 
limb or martial skill can compare with that supreme 
human effort in which the noblest thought clothes 
itself in the most fitting form of words. This is why 
the skillful novelist takes such pains to make his char- 
acters converse ; this is why the enterprising reporter 
of Chicago, as well as the greatest of Athenian phil- 
osophers, uses the dialogue as the best means of im- 
parting knowledge ; and it is this, more than anything 
else, that gives the drama the highest place among the 
creations of the poet. That fine tact with which one 
cultured mind turns to meet another through the 
medium of words, gives as strong an impression of 
beauty as was ever afforded by the most graceful atti- 
tudinizing of Rachel herself. 



CONVERSATION. 429 

Many centuries ago one of the wisest men of a great 
and wise race became conscious of this beauty, and he 
put his thought into a proverb : 

" A word fitly spoken 

Is like apples of gold in baskets of silver" 

But it is doubtful whether we have yet come to appre- 
ciate this proverb at its true value. We train our 
children to be beautiful in many other ways. They 
are taught to dance, to play the piano, to paint pic- 
tures, to sing, to dress, and to behave themselves ; but 
it never occurs to us that they should be taught 
to converse. We educate eyes, ears, brain, feet, 
fingers ; but who ever thinks of educating the tongue ? 
And yet without training of some kind it is just as im- 
possible for us to converse gracefully as it is for one 
who is unskilled in the arts to insert apples of gold in 
filigree work of silver. 

In analyzing the various elements that give us pleas- 
ure in conversation, the first place must be given to 
the voice of the speaker. Perhaps I should say 
something of the speaker himself, his manner, gesture, 
and personal appearance in general ; for when men 
talk in earnest and to the best advantage, they talk all 
over ; and eyes, mouth, nostrils, head, feet, hands, body, 
everything, are worthy of attention. But because in 
all this catalogue the voice is most prominent, we may, 
for the time being, confine our attention to it. 

The gossip of English literature abounds in tradi- 
tions concerning the voices of the great. Shelley's 
tones were shrill like those of a bird, while Keats was 



430 BE A TEN PA THS. 

accustomed to recite his verses with a deep and sub- 
dued earnestness of expression, as if a solemn spell 
had been cast upon him. Sir James Mackintosh had 
a voice soft and sweet as a flageolet, while Car- 
lyle's strident tones were like those of a trumpet. 
Coleridge's nasal drawl wound on in interminable dis- 
course, converting the object and subject of his philo- 
sophical terminology into "ommject" and " summ- 
ject ; " and De Quincey's voice is described by Hogg, 
the Ettrick shepherd, as " the voice of a nicht-wan- 
derin' man, laigh and lone, pitched on the key o' a 
wimblin' burn speakin to itsel' in the silence, aneath 
the moon and stars." 

There are as many kinds of voices as there are of 
men. There are voices that delight you with their 
rich cadences, and voices that distress you with their 
thin and reedy notes. There are voices that arouse, 
voices that give you the fidgets, and voices that put 
you to sleep. There are voices that salute the ears 
like the growl of a wild beast, and voices that seem 
to smite you in some sensitive part, provoking instant 
hostility. Speaking generally, the voice is a most 
valuable index to the character. Peevish individuals 
lapse into a habitual whine ; nervous people speak 
with a succession of small electric discharges ; while 
the boor grunts with the labor of expressing his 
thought. You recognize the clergyman the moment 
he begins to speak, for his voice carries with it a sug- 
gestion of congregations and solemn ceremonies ; but 
if you hear prim and positive tones that lay down the 
law, as it were, there is the school-teacher. An honest 



CON VERSA TION. 43 I 

man's voice has a ring about it like that of pure metal, 
while the hypocrite's tones are as smooth and slippery 
as the road to hell. You can tell by a man's voice 
whether it is safe to fool with him or not ; for there 
are some voices that come slobbering over you like a 
lot of puppy-dogs wagging their tails, and there are 
others whose every tone implies, "Business — and don't 
you forget it ! " 

The voice changes with time to accomodate the 
changing phases of thought and feeling ; and every 
prevailing experience has its own congenial tone. 
There is a natural tone for authority, a tone for love, 
and a tone for prayer. There is a tone that expresses 
deference, a tone for servility, and a tone for self- 
esteem. As illustrating the revelations of the voice, 
two clergymen, we are told, were once officiating in a 
solemn cathedral service, the one an eminent digni- 
tary of the church, and the other a feeble little curate 
whom the unusual responsibilities of the occasion had 
wrought up to a pitch of nervous excitement as inde- 
scribable as it was uncontrollable. And as they read 
the one hundred and second psalm responsively, the 
sixth verse began, with deep, majestic tones, 'Tarn 
like a pelican in the wilderness." To which came the 
shrieking response, " I am like an owl in the desert." 
The electrified congregation had little difficulty in de- 
ciding which was the great ecclesiastic and which the 
subaltern. 

The human voice is the sweetest and most expres- 
sive instrument that was ever made, and is capable 
of communicating to others an almost measureless de- 



43 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

light. While careful training may do much for its 
improvement, as is seen in the case of professional 
singers, training alone will not do everything. Since 
the voice is the expression of our inner self, pleasant 
tones are the natural and invariable accompaniment 
of pleasant feelings. If, therefore, you wish to culti- 
vate the voice, it would be better to begin with the 
heart than with the larynx. Let it be your constant 
aim to cherish the sweeter, the more sublime, and the 
more disinterested feelings of which human nature is 
capable, and you will find this culture of the soul re- 
vealing itself in time through the voice. But if you 
permit yourself to cherish feelings of melancholy or 
of antipathy to the race ; if you allow the cares 
and disappointments of life to encroach upon your 
peace ; if you foster the mental habits of a tyrant, a 
grumbler, or a scold, your voice will be sure to suffer 
accordingly. It is only by abiding in such pleasant 
frames of mind as I have described that we become 
able to detect our own disagreeable tones, and thus 
to remedy them. 

Accent and pronunciation are minor matters, and 
yet they are not undeserving of attention. True, the 
chief duty of man does not consist in pronouncing words 
with perfect correctness ; one need not go through the 
world with a Webster's " Unabridged," like the lantern 
of Diogenes, under his arm, testing the speech of 
friend and foe. And yet there is such a thing as a 
provincial accent, which, simply because it is provincial, 
falls unpleasantly on the ear and suggests a narrow 
and provincial experience. It argues that one has 



CON VERSA TION. 43 3 

not seen enough of the world to make him catholic 
and many sided in his sympathies. 

But these preliminaries conduct us to a larger and 
more important part of conversation, namely, the 
style. " What do you read, my lord ? " Polonius 
questions Hamlet; and the reply comes, "Words, 
words, words ! " What are you speaking day after 
day ? Words, words, words. That is all ; and upon 
your choice and arrangement of words your conver- 
sational style depends. The uneducated boor is mas- 
ter of not more than three or four hundred words, and 
manifests little disposition to employ them by engag- 
ing in conversation. But the educated gentleman 
commands a large vocabulary, and is able to select 
from among many thousands that precise word which 
expresses the subtle refinement of his thought. It is 
said that Emerson, in conversation, would pause occa- 
sionally as if in search of a word; but the search 
always resulted in his finding the exact term or 
phrase upon which no subsequent improvement could 
be made. When one of Robert Hall's productions 
was being read to him, he came upon the word pene- 
trate, and immediately exclaimed, " Pierce is the 
word ; I never could have meant to say penetrate in 
that connection." Surely it is only an educated lin- 
guistic taste that could draw such a distinction between 
penetrate and pierce. 

But education in the way of obtaining a copious 
and exact vocabulary, may possibly be overdone. 
When Dr. Johnson defines net-work as " anything re- 
ticulated or decussated at equal distances, with inter- 



434 BEA TEN PA THS - 

stices between the intersections," we begin to wonder 
whether we really know what net-work means. Dr. 
Chalmers, being asked to speak as simply as possible 
to a certain rustic audience, began in this way ; I have 
been asked to-night to avoid the technical nomencla- 
ture of scholastic theology." And De Quincey, that 
master of style, when he wished his meat cut with the 
grain, is said to have addressed his cook after this 
fashion: ''Owing to dyspepsia affecting my system, 
and the possibility of any additional derangement of 
the stomach taking place, consequences incalculably 
distressing would arise — so much so, indeed, as to in- 
crease nervous irritation, and prevent me from attend- 
ing to matters of overwhelming importance — if you do 
not remember to cut the mutton in a diagonal rather 
than a longitudinal direction." From which remarks 
his humble Scotch cook drew the sage reflection that 
" the body has an awfu' sicht o' words." 

" Words are like leaves, and where they most abound, 
Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found ! " 

" Brevity is the soul of wit." It is possible to smother 
the thought in language. For constant imitation, it 
might be well to hold up before yourself some such 
model of condensed expression as that given in the 
famous prize essay on the Mexican War : " Cause of 
the war : Texas. Result of the war : Taxes ! " 

There is a provincialism in words, against which you 
must be on your guard. If you think that a certain 
individual errs somewhat on the side of amiability, 
you may speak of him as soft, if you choose ; but do 



CO N VERSA TION. 435 

not, I beseech of you, allude to him as " clever." If 
you have been reared in the vicinity of Philadelphia, it 
mio-ht be well to remember that what you have been 
accustomed to speak of as "gums," are known to the 
outside world as overshoes, rubbers, or goloshes. The 
Philadelphia lady who was frank enough to avow the 
practice of cleaning her "gums" upon the mat every 
time she entered a house, was mortified to find her 
confession received with shouts of laughter. 

With the young, whose minds have not been 
trained as yet to a nice discrimination in the use of 
language, and to whom everything in the world is novel 
and marvellous, conversation is apt to favor the 
exclamation-point, to the neglect of the other marks 
of punctuation. You frequently meet people whose 
custom it is to usher every sentence into the world with 
a little " Oh! " thus benevolently preparing the mind of 
the hearer against any dangerous shock which might 
otherwise be given by the startling information that is 
to follow. Nor are there wanting, even in the most re- 
spectable communities, conversational savages who 
strive to embellish their discourse with the most un- 
couth ornamentation. When the simple " Oh " seems 
insufficient, " Oh my ! " is adopted by way of increas- 
ing the emphasis. And in still greater emergencies 
" Dear me ! " will serve to remind the speaker that her 
own peerless personality is still intact. Young ladies 
who find the facts of life likely to overpower the reason 
with their mystery and magnitude, find vent for their 
agitated feelings in the expression, " Oh mercy!" And 
there is indubitable record of a fair American who, 



436 BEA TEN PA THS. 

whenever startled or surprised, would seek refuge in 
patriotism, and clasping her hands in the most fervid 
manner, would exclaim, " O my bleeding country ! " 
As this is given on the authority of a doctor of divin- 
ity, rash and wicked would be the mind that dare 
doubt its veracity. 

When people try to improve upon the natural force 
and beauty of the English language, you can hardly 
tell what expedients they may not adopt. When you 
think of the things that have been described as 
" grand," " magnificent," and " sublime " — their name is 
legion. You may hear the adjective "elegant" ap- 
plied to anything that seems attractive, from the " ele- 
gant" frescoes of Raphael to an "elegant" stick of candy. 
And the " awful " things, and the " horrid " things, and 
the " too-sweet-for-anything " things that are seen and 
said and done — it would puzzle the brain of a hotel- 
clerk to keep account of them. 

It is surely needless to remark that awful is applica- 
ble only to something that inspires the feeling of awe^ 
and horrid to what creates horror ; but what is the 
use of a law, if you cannot break it when you want 
to ? The weather is " awfully hot," or the cow looks 
"awfully fierce" — a peculiar bovine aspect assumed only 
in the presence of young ladies — or a certain young 
man is "awfully nice" — also revealed exclusively to the 
fair sex. People of British antecedents are apt to de- 
scribe anything disagreeable by the forcible adjective, 
" beastly." A " beastly woman " is one whose appear- 
ance, manner, or disposition is unpleasant. A "beastly 
dress " is one that does not fit perfectly, or that is a lit- 



CON VERSA TION. 43 7 

tie behind the fashions. And if the weather happens 
to be a trifle hot or cold, it too is spoken of as 
11 beastly." An American who had been informed by an 
English lady that the weather was beastly, straightway 
went away and forgot what manner of adjective the 
foreigner had used, and subsequently was discovered 
in the act of delighting an interested and somewhat 
partisan audience by assuring them that the fair one 
had spoken of the weather as animal weather — ver- 
ily, had not he with his own ears heard her say animal 
weather ! 

As to slang, one must speak with some measure of 
respect for those anonymous and unrewarded poets 
whose humor so touches the popular heart that their 
sayings begin to be quoted on every hand. Think of 
the fine play of imagination that must have gone on 
in the mind of him who first enjoined silence upon a 
fellow being by requesting him to "dry up." He 
draws a mental comparison between the profuse 
speech of his companion and the perpetual outflow- 
ing of some spring in the bosom of the hills; and 
then, with an audacity almost equal to that of Moses 
of old when he smote the rock in his own name and 
authority, he commands this fountain of a fellow being's 
speech to dry up. The figure is very suggestive. 

Or, did you ever think that you are unconsciously 
quoting poetry when, desiring to ascertain whether 
your companion fully realizes the intent and purport 
of your remarks, you ask him whether he " catches 
on?" Catch on, I suppose, is simply plain Anglo 
Saxon for apprehend ; but it holds within itself this 

26 



438 BE A TEN PA THS. 

modest little figure, that our ideas are like those mag- 
nificent equipages that go bowling along the city 
boulevards, and that the individual who really appre- 
hends our meaning is like the small boy who lays 
hold upon the rear of the passing vehicle, and thus 
becomes dignified by its splendor and carried forward 
by its movement. 

Where dwells that " mute, inglorious Milton " whose 
genius first coined the significant phrase which de- 
scribes the man of many interests and pursuits as 
" spreading himself out thin ? " The figure needs no 
explanation, borrowed as it is from those early exper- 
iences of ours when parental economy compelled a 
paucity of butter to suffice for a superfluity of bread. 

This will be enough to indicate that slang is not to 
be condemned without discrimination. A happy 
phrase, a taking epithet, in whose creation humor 
plays an important part, is not in itself deserving of 
condemnation. But after its fine humorous sugges- 
tiveness has been worn off, like the figures on a 
coin that has been repeatedly passed from hand to 
hand, it ceases to give pleasure. To persist in cloth- 
ing our ideas in those worn out garments tha*, we find 
lying loose upon the streets, is offensive to a sensitive 
taste. If we have ideas, we should be able to provide 
them with clothing of their own. 

If, as Buffon says, the style is the man, we may in- 
fer that profanity is the index of a common and vul- 
gar mind. Profane language marks a man to whom 
the highest and holiest ideas are alien. Dr. Dale says, 
" To prostrate noble words to base uses is as great a 



CONVERSATION. 439 

wrong to the community as to deface a noble public 
monument." Those who are guilty of this offence de- 
preciate our noblest currency of thought by mingling 
with it an alloy of base suggestion, and by so doing 
work a subtle injury upon themselves. For if men 
are to assert their spiritual manhood in this world 
and come into communion with the unseen holy, they 
must preserve some region of thought free from all 
contaminating and belittling associations. Man needs 
to keep some shrine in the soul to which all that is 
highest and noblest in him may repair — some temple 
whose solemn chime, pealing on and on forever above 
the sordidness and the meanness of life, may summon 
his divinest faculties to unceasing worship. Now, 
sacred words, if anything, constitute that chime. 
Their function is to call up within the mind the loftiest 
ideas of which it is capable. But when that which 
should suggest only what is holy is applied to common 
and unseemly purposes, it loses its power to evoke 
the divine element within us. This habit of profane 
speech turns the temple of the soul into a bar-room 
or pig-sty. He that cheapens the words cheapens the 
conceptions for which they stand, and thereby cheapens 
himself. 

But more important than the words or the style of 
discourse is the thought. On general psychological 
principles we are compelled to admit that when peo- 
ple speak they think, though some unquestionably 
do not think enough. A wag once declared that there 
are individuals whose tongues are set on a swivel and 
talk at both ends. One of the most fatiguing exper- 



440 . BE A TEN PA THS. 

iences that can befall you is that of being compelled 
to tolerate the conversation of one who makes no se- 
lection from among the various thoughts that come to 
him, but permits the mental stream to dribble out un- 
impeded through the lips. To listen to such discourse 
is like drinking turbid and unaltered water. No one 
has any right to throw out all the rubbish of his mind 
before the public. A careful process of selection 
should take place, and only that which is worthiest 
should be presented to others. 

The prime essential in good conversation is some- 
thing to say ; and for this a well furnished mind is 
absolutely indispensable. If you attempt to get 
something out of the mind without putting anything 
into it, the world will not be long in discovering your 
mental bankruptcy. The more you have felt and 
seen, the more will you have that is worthy of being 
talked about. Travel, of itself, is almost sufficient to 
make the veriest fool entertaining. But there is a 
shrewd saying current among the natives of Japan, 
"The poet, though he does not go abroad, sees all the 
renowned places." There is something in the poeti- 
cal spirit that brings one into touch with the whole 
round of human experience, and makes him suscepti- 
ble to inspirations from afar. Some men see with the 
eyes, and others see with the mind ; but, in either case, 
it is the seeing that furnishes the man and gives him 
material for discourse. The ideal conversationalist is 
he who can strike all notes in the great scale of hu- 
man experience without producing a discord. 

Most men, however, are narrower than this; and some 



CON VERS A TION. 44 1 

seem to be incapable of doing anything more than 
striking the same note over and over again. A friend 
of Sir Walter Scott's, who prided himself upon his 
conversational powers, once endeavored to interest 
a fellow traveller with but poor success. At length, 
feeling somewhat piqued over his failure, he began to 
expostulate. "My friend," said he, " I have ventured to 
talk to you on all the ordinary subjects — literature, 
farming, merchandise, game-laws, horse-races, suits-at- 
law, politics, swindling, blasphemy, and philosophy — 
but all to no avail. Now, is there any subject in 
which you happen to be interested ? " The silent man's 
face relaxed, and with a grin of expectation, he re- 
plied, " Sir, can you say anything clever about bend- 
leather ?" This was the only subject in life that he 
cared to hear about. 

There are individuals who ride some one hobby so 
long that they can never learn to ride anything else. 
You trot along all your favorite topics without elicit- 
ing the least response from them ; but let their hobby 
once come within reasonable distance, and they are 
into the saddle and off at a gallop. I do not mind a 
man's riding a hobby, so long as he does not attempt 
to ride it over me. The line, I think, should be drawn 
just there. Once in a while we are made to feel the 
need of some conversational policeman to prevent 
these furious hobby-riders from trampling all our 
noble longings and lofty conceptions into the dust. I 
have no doubt that the grocery business is an 
eminently proper and respectable business for an im- 
mortal spirit to engage in here below ; but I pity the 



442 BE A TEN PA THS. 

men whose minds are forever astride of sugar barrels, 
and whose talk is always redolent of cod-fish and ker- 
osene. As for hobbies, if I could only persuade the 
Reverend Doctor Goodenough to cease making such 
constant allusion to the " great work of grace in Way- 
town;" if I could only persuade him to spend a half- 
hour of cheerful chat with me on the habits of the 
horned toad, or the fashions of Fiji, or the uses and 
abuses of phosphatic fertilizers ; if, in short, I could 
induce my excellent friend to dismount from his favor- 
ite hobby-horse of spiritual mechanics for one short 
half-hour, I believe I should be supremely happy. 

The first essential in conversation, then, consists in 
something that is worth the saying. Where you 
haven't anything to say, do not say it. The precept 
of Pythagoras was a wise one : " Be silent, or say 
something better than silence." A cynical old bach- 
elor once demanded of a lady, " Madam, what do 
you hold on this subject of woman-suffrage?" To 
which the lady replied, " Sir, on that subject I hold my 
tongue." Silence is golden. A flash of silence in 
the midst of some conversations that you will be com- 
pelled to listen to would seem positively brilliant 
Some people are like drums — the emptier, the noisier. 
Von Moltke, they say, has learned to be silent in eight 
languages. 

The first requisite is something to talk about ; the 
second is somebody to talk with. I say somebody 
to talk with, rather than somebody to talk to, or some- 
body to talk at. Schiller complained that if anybody 
would converse with Madame de Stael, he must con- 



CON VERSA TION. 443 

vert his entire personality into ears. It is said that 
this lady, on being introduced to a certain gentle- 
man at an evening party, straightway launched out 
into conversation with her usual fluency ; and as the 
stranger appeared to be greatly interested, she so di- 
rected her brilliant flow of speech toward him as to 
keep him by her side during the remainder of the 
evening. " Who is that gentleman ? " she subsequently 
asked ; " I thought him remarkably agreeable ! " 
" Did you ? " was the astonished reply. " He is a 
very excellent man ; but unfortunately he is deaf and 
dumb." 

Sydney Smith once drank a toast to a certain Mr. 
Buckle who sat near him at a dinner party ; but on 
that gentleman's making no effort to respond, Smith 
suggested that he must be a buckle without a tongue. 
It was not thus, however, with Buckle, the historian, 
whose speech was like a Mississippi flood, compelling 
people to swim for their lives. On one occasion when 
Darwin and Buckle were together, the historian mo- 
nopolized the conversation as usual, until a lady in 
the room adjoining began to sing, when Darwin, 
welcoming the opportunity to escape, rose and de- 
clared that he must hear her. Buckle, however, simply 
turned to a friend and remarked with the utmost cool- 
ness that Darwin's books were " much better than his 
conversation." 

" Did you ever hear me preach?" said Coleridge to 
Charles Lamb. " I n-n-n-never heard you d-d-do 
anything else!" was the scathing retort of that stam- 
mering little wit. Coleridge's monologues are pro- 



444 BEA TEN PA THS - 

verbial. The slightest circumstance would suffice to set 
the wonderful mechanism of his brain and tongue 
a-going; and when once started, it had to run down 
before it would stop. Theodore Hook tells of a 
lengthy discourse to which he was compelled to listen, 
and which was provoked by the simple fact that Cole- 
ridge had observed two soldiers sitting by the road- 
side. At the conclusion of a three hours' harangue, 
Hook exclaimed, "Thank heaven you did not see a 
regiment, Coleridge, for in that case you would never 
have stopped ! " Coleridge, it is said, would seize a 
companion by the button and hold him a prisoner, 
while, with closed eyes, he discoursed by the hour 

" Of Providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate." 

On one occasion, having thus captured Charles Lamb 
in a quiet London alley, the dexterous wit contrived to 
free himself by cutting off the button and leaving it 
in the hands of the unsuspecting philosopher. And it 
is recorded as a fact, that when several hours later 
Lamb was returning from his desk at the India office, 
there stood Coleridge firmly grasping the button, and 
pouring out the rich stream of his discourse with un- 
impaired equanimity. 

Such anecdotes irresistibly suggest that of the 
granger who betook himself to the the city to purchase 
a timepiece. "What be that ticker worth? " he en- 
quired, indicating the particular clock with his finger. 
" Why, that," responded the clerk, " is a wonderful 
piece of mechanism, and will go three years without 
winding." "Three years without windin," mused the 



CONVERSATION. 445 

"Three years without windin' ! Say, Mis- 
ter, how long would she go if she was wound up ? " 

Monologue is not conversation. Conversation is 
an intellectual feast in which two or more persons dis- 
cuss a certain dish together. And it is essential to 
the perfection of the repast that all should take some 
part in this discussion. There will be social lions, to 
whom the lion's share is assigned as a matter of 
course ; but surely the social mice may be encouraged 
to give an occasional nibble. 

If you will only cultivate the art of listening, so as 
to encourage free and spontaneous mental activity in 
the mind of your companion, you will not fail of 
your reward. There are listeners that seem to 
throw a wet blanket over us ; and there are others, 
again, whose look and attitude encourage us to do 
our best. For your own sake, as well as for the sake 
of your companion, it is well to draw him out. That 
revelation of the very self-hood of men which comes 
through speech, is infinitely more interesting than, for 
example, the revelation of a flower's structure which 
is given under the microscope. A man's talk gives 
you the measure of him, and suggests the story of his 
life. Some men are good listeners, others are good 
talkers, but the good conversationalist is both. 

If you "take toll of every mind that travels your 
way," it is incumbent upon you to give something in 
return. Where two people are more eager to receive 
than to give, it is difficult for any profitable social in- 
tercourse to take place between them. It sometimes 
happens that an excess of modesty may prevent one 



446 BE A TEN PA THS. 

from saying anything ; but modesty, in such cases, is 
very easily mistaken for selfishness. The very fact 
that others converse with us at all, is an indication 
that they esteem us sufficiently to be willing to enter 
into reciprocal relations with us ; and the most modest 
man in the world has no justification for not endeavor- 
ing to show himself worthy of that esteem. Human 
life is so rich, so varied, so complex, that every indi- 
vidual may be assured he has something that would 
be of interest to those associated with him. The 
greatest of men possess no more than segments of 
the great circle of human experience. 

But unquestionably the highest types of conversa- 
tion are found only where minds that have much in 
common come together. When inferior meets super- 
ior, the range of topics is limited. The student, who 
has a most facile tongue in presence of his classmates, 
may find great difficulty in carrying on a lengthy dis- 
course with the man of the world. The clergyman, 
who fences circumspectly when visiting his parishioner 
and hails the moment that permits him to beat a de- 
corous retreat, will spend hours in the company of 
some clerical associate, eclipsing the magpies with 
his chatter and the bulls of Bashan with his roars. 
" Birds of a feather flock together." That is natures 
law ; and it holds good in conversation as in every- 
thing else. 

The one unpardonable sin in conversation is to 
give offence. Society has unwittingly adopted the 
golden rule, and declares that we must speak to 
others as we would have them speak to us. The ex- 



CONVERSATION. 447. 

pression of strong emotion, even, is not encouraged, 
because it generally strikes a chord to which no one 
in the company can at once give a fitting response. 
People begin with the subject of the weather. If we 
were to start out with religion, with the fine arts, with 
philosophy, somebody's corns would probably suffer. 
So men have by general consent resolved to start out 
with the indisputable testimony of the lowest of the 
senses, that of temperature, and from this general 
meeting-point to feel their way toward higher topics. 
We may abuse the weather God gives us as much as 
we choose, and yet never in a lifetime meet the re- 
buke of that pious Scotchman who declared that any 
sort o' weather was infinitely preferable to none at all 
Blessed be the freezing days of January and the 
boiling days of July ! Blessed be the days that are 
dark and dismal as well as those that are clear and 
bright ! Blessed be the rainy days, the windy days, 
the days that blow our neatly arranged tresses into 
chaos and shed tears upon our cherished millinery ! 
For out of how many conversational predicaments do 
they deliver us ! The weather is surely an angel in 
disguise that links the hearts of men together with 
subtle bonds of sympathy. God bless the man who 
tells me it is a fine day ! It is. Of course it is. I 
knew that it was a fine day; but I was not quite so 
sure that anyone else knew it. Give me your hand, 
my friend. You and I differ on many things ; but it 
is a fine day, isn't it ? We are both thinking the same 
thing. We are not as far apart as we might have im- 
agined. You walk out while the rain is falling in tor- 



448 BE A TEN PA THS. 

rents; and to the first acquaintance you meet, you 
remark, "Rainy!" "'Tis somewhat moist," replies 
the fellow, with a pleased expression of countenance. 
Why does he smile ? Simply because he realizes that 
you and he are one. There is something flattering in 
that. The more we find men thinking as we do, the 
more disposed are we to think well of ourselves. 

But to find others differing from our opinions in a 
marked or emphatic manner is hard to be endured. 
Controversy is something that society cannot tolerate. 
It puts too much stress on individualism, and violates 
the unifying principle of the social instinct. When 
controversy degenerates into personalities, woe be to 
the controversialist ! The great Doctor Johnson gives 
his sanction to this unwritten code : " Sir," said he, 
" a man has no more right to say an uncivil thing 
than to act one — no more right to say a rude thing to 
another than to knock him down." But the preaching 
of this Ursa Major was considerably better than his 
practice. As a matter of fact, those who dissented 
from the Doctor were met with such stunning retorts 
as, "You do not understand the question, sir." "You 
lie, sir !" 

Egotism in conversation is insufferable. Some one 
has well said that an egotist is an individual who takes 
up the time in talking about himself, while you would 
prefer to talk about yourself. The man whose text is 
always the capital I, indicates that he has but small 
interest in the welfare and affairs of others. He 
is too self-absorbed to be social. He should 
be sent into some desert place to blow his 



CON VERS A T10N. 449 

trumpet to the rocks and trees. We are all drawn 
towards him who seems to be so interested in us that 
he inquires after our family, preserves in mind the 
names of our children, and seems conversant with our 
success and our misfortunes. When your hostess re- 
members that you take no sugar with your tea, is it 
not a most subtle compliment ? To know that such a 
trifling peculiarity has been treasured up in her mem- 
ory, indicates that your personal tastes must have a 
more than ordinary interest for her. 

But of all beings that are distasteful to society, the 
most repulsive is the one whose tongue is dipped in 
slander, and who has never a kind word to speak for 
another. " Slander," says the Abbe Roux, " is a ver- 
dict of guilty, pronounced in the absence of the 
accused, with closed doors, without defence or appeal, 
by an interested and prejudiced judge." Petty slander, 
like every petty thing, is more contemptible, though 
less injurious, than that which takes greater proportions. 
There are men who would not impugn your honesty, 
but who do not hesitate to publish abroad the fact 
that you are a little close in your financial dealings 
with others. There are women who would not say a 
word against your honor, but who delight to proclaim 
that your striking Spring costume is only last year's 
dress dyed and made over. Everybody despises the 
petty scandal mongers. They are the vermin among 
conversationalists, living only on what they can obtain 
from the exposed portions of the lives of others. 

There is such a thing as discourse that runs across 
the border line of propriety. Not to be offended at 



450 BE A TEN PA THS. 

such talk is to shake hands with the devil. The man 
who utters low and salacious thoughts in your pres- 
ence challenges every pure and noble principle in 
your being to rise up in antagonism. It is to be 
hoped that when your noblest powers are thus defied, 
they will never fail to assert and maintain themselves. 
One need not storm, nor even administer an open re- 
buke upon the spot; but at such times there is a 
silence that may become more eloquent than words. 

Purity, however, is a very different thing from 
prudery. To the prude, much thinking upon forbidden 
topics has made even the commonest objects sugges- 
tive of evil ; while the pure mind, never having cher- 
ished a thought upon these unwholesome things, is not 
quick to take offence where nothing offensive has been 
uttered. This prudishness is well ridiculed by the story 
of the gentleman who innocently offended a roomful 
of company by speaking of ox-tail soup. On enquir- 
ing into the cause of his offence, he was informed that 
he should have spoken of " fly-disperser soup ! " To 
that company the term ox-tail was too suggestive to 
be tolerated. 

There is a purity like the purity of God, that can 
look vice full in the face and hate it, and then go on 
its course unruffled and unharmed. There is a purity 
that thinks never of the unspeakable thing, and 
whose own innocence, like a halo of heavenly light, is 
its protection and its glory. But there is that which 
merely apes purity ; there is that which looks vice in 
the face, and turns aside with a little smirk ; there is 
that which, always thinking of evil, projects its inward 



CON VERSA TION. 45 \ 

thought into the world without, and borrows evil sug- 
gestion from things innocent and pure ; there is that 
which strives to conceal the thought of hell with the 
lanooiaee and accent of heaven. And woe be unto us 
if we ever allow it to prescribe what shall be counted 
decorous in conversation. 

Be yourself ; be real and truthful ; be kind and 
good ; be humble and thoughtful of others ; be as 
bright and witty as you can ; and you will not fail of 
winning conversational success. 



XX. 
FRIENDSHIP. 

" A crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, 
and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love." 

— Bacon. 

" Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, 
Heaven did a recompense as largely send ; 
He gave to Misery all he had, a tear, 
He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend." 

— Gray. 

" Theie are three friendships which are advantageous, and three 
which are injurious. Friendship with the upright ; friendship with the 
sincere ; and friendship with the man of observation : these are advan- 
tageous. Friendship with the man of specious airs ; friendship with the 
insinuatingly soft ; and friendship with the glib-tongued : these are 

injurious.." 

— Confucius. 

RIENDSHIP is something so 
real, so forceful, and so common 
to all countries and times, that 
one cannot help wondering how 
anybody can be a sceptic con- 
cerning it. Ancient Greece has 
its legend of Damon and Pythias; 
ancient Rome tells the story of Lucullus, who would 
not allow himself to be made consul until his younger 
brother had enjoyed the office; and ancient Israel 
records how "the soul of Jonathan was knit with the 
soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own 





SHAKE HANDS! 



FRIENDSHIP. 455 

soul." No finer description of the very essence of 
friendship is to be found in the whole course of litera- 
ture. Our friends are those whose souls are knit with 
ours, and who love us as they love themselves. 

Even if we might adduce no such conspicuous exam- 
ples as these, the very existence of the counterfeits 
that are found in society would lead us to suppose 
that somewhere genuine friendship is to be discovered. 
How can there be a counterfeit, unless there is an 
original and genuine thing to be counterfeited? All 
the mock-friendships of the world are only a confes- 
sion that the real article does exist, and that it is intrin- 
sically valuable. Indeed, it may be urged that many 
of these counterfeits come from that unwritten law of 
society which insists that the forms of friendship are 
to be preserved at all costs, and that any outward show 
of hostility is to be considered a mark of ill breeding. 
To smite a man with fists or words, to knock him down 
either physically or mentally, argues that one belongs 
to that uncouth and backward class which has hardly 
escaped as yet from the barbarism of previous genera- 
tions. So for form's sake, for respectability's sake, 
for the sake of our own reputation as ladies and gen- 
tlemen, there is none of us who will not consent to a 
little hypocrisy now and then. " Dear Sir," we always 
say in our letters, when if we were to speak the truth, 
the fingers would write only " Sordid Sir," " Inhuman 
Sir," " Detestable Sir." Society has got far enough 
along to perceive that friendship is an ideal thing, 
a beautiful thing, a noble and graceful thing ; and 

hence it is fashionable to be friendly in public. 

27 



456 BE A TEN PA THS. 

The man who is in office, the man who has a super- 
fluity of this world's goods, the man with a little pa- 
tronage to bestow, usually have so many " friends" 
that they do not know what to do with them. There 
are human leeches who would attach themselves to 
any creature that walks, if they thought that thereby 
they might obtain a living. Instead of calling them 
friends, let them be known by their right names — 
sycophants, parasites, vampires ! It must have been 
of such as these that Goldsmith wrote in his bitterest 
mood : 

" And what is friendship but a name, 
A charm that lulls to sleep, 
A shade that follows wealth or fame, 
And leaves the wretch to weep ? ' ' 

True friendship, however, gives such different exam- 
ples of its working, that the whole world recognizes 
these as counterfeit. Friendship implies a union of 
soul with soul. Friendship is the root-principle of all 
those growths of love that earth exhibits. The ideal 
family is not that in which the members are simply 
thrown together by the accident of the family rela- 
tionship, but that in which such spiritual attachments 
have been cemented as to form abiding and delight- 
ful friendships. Where the wife cannot be the hus- 
band's friend, she can be little more than his house- 
keeper ; where the children cannot be friends of the 
father, they are denominated " youngsters," or " brats "; 
while the father, in his turn, becomes to them simply 
the "governor," the "old man," or, as is heard once in 
a while, the " ancient buffalo " ! It is only through the 



FRIENDSHIP. 457 

portals of friendship that one can enter into these 
dearer relationships. 

Friendship is of all stages and degrees. Some go 
so far as to call another their friend simply because 
he has never manifested any hostility toward them. 
The aspiring young man who loves to tell you long 
stories of his friends, the Duke of So-and-So and Ad- 
miral Blank, probably proceeds on the assumption that 
these gentlemen must be his personal friends because 
they have never knocked him down. From this, 
friendship rises through all gradations to its perfect 
type. In its highest development, it is necessarily 
exclusive. There are many people with whom we 
may be friendly, but with whom we can never be 
friends. The moral and spiritual affinities are against 
it. Friendship means intellectual and moral attrac- 
tion, such as results in communion of soul with soul. 
Christ Himself found that in the chosen company of 
the twelve there were only three who could enter into 
His most intimate fellowship. 

That friends may render substantial aid in the ad- 
vancement of our temporal interests admits of no ques- 
tion. For getting on in the world, good friends are 
as serviceable as good judgment, good executive abil- 
ity, or good financial backing. Other things being 
equal, the man who has the greatest number of 
friends is the one who stands the best chance of rising 
in life. The unsuccessful man may pour out the 
volumes of his scorn upon nepotism, favoritism, and 
influences of this sort in general ; but the fact remains 
that, as the world goes, friendship has a temporal as 



458 BE A TEN PA THS. 

well as a sentimental and spiritual value. If this 
world were so conducted that one friend could never 
be of practical assistance to another, you would not 
place any great amount of faith in either the wisdom 
or the goodness of the Providence that administers it. 
He whose life is so absorbed with its own selfish inter- 
ests and ambitions as never to become knit in tender 
affiliation with the lives of others, loses something that 
he values through this selfishness. It takes a good 
heart, as well as a good body and a good brain, to 
make one's way in the world. 

Apart from all that our friends can do in the way 
of direct efforts in our behalf, the very fact that a 
man has a large number of associates who are per- 
sonally attached to him and interested in his welfare, 
is one of the best letters of introduction that he can 
present to the world. It certifies in the strongest way 
to the general uprightness and unselfishness of his 
character. It is a virtual declaration of the fact that 
in his past history he has been regardful of the inter- 
ests and even of the prejudices and peculiarities of 
others. For no man who is indifferent to the welfare 
and feelings of his fellows can either make or keep 
friends. 

Friends exert a profound influence in the devel- 
opment of the intellectual and moral powers. " Iron 
sharpeneth iron ; so a man sharpeneth the counte- 
nance of his friend. A life that is given to solitude 
stands in great danger of intellectual and moral de- 
generation. The tendency of solitary confinement is 
towards insanity. Goethe says that character is per- 



FRIENDSHIP. 459 

fected " in the stream of the world." All kinds of 
moods, whims, and humors are apt to take possession 
of the solitary. His judgment becomes perverted 
and his eccentricities exaggerated. He grows arro- 
gant, conceited, and domineering. He becomes mor- 
bidly sensitive, scents danger in everybody that ap- 
proaches, withdraws himself into his shell, and steadily 
loses faith in humanity. Where a man has no friends 
to keep him constantly mindful of the better and more 
gracious aspects of human nature, how can he be ex- 
pected to preserve his confidence in it? 

If you wish to know how stupid and abominable 
you can be, live alone with yourself for a day or two. 
We grow more tired of ourselves than of the worst 
bore that ever invaded our homes. The stimulus that 
a congenial companion can give to the intellectual 
energies is like that of ozone. In the society of a few 
chosen spirits where thought can be interchanged with 
perfect freedom and sympathy, the mind is naturally 
spurred on to do its best. Then, if ever, the pungent 
wit, the quick repartee, the flashing wisdom, and the 
rollicking humor pour forth in a steady stream. 

As you study the power of individuals in moulding 
the thought and life of the world, it will become ap- 
parent to you that the great men of history have 
established themselves and gained volume and force 
for their current of influence, through gathering round 
themselves at the start a little nucleus of congenial 
friends and companions. The story of Christ choos- 
ing the twelve to be His intimates and the distributors 
of His influence, is reproduced in the history of almost 



460 BE A TEN PA THS. 

every individual who has wrought for the better- 
ment of the world. What would Socrates have 
amounted to, if it had not been for that little circle of 
devoted followers who attended his steps through the 
streets of Athens? Plato and the scholars of the 
Academy, and Aristotle with his company of disciples 
at the Lyceum, are familiar figures to all students of 
ancient thought. Paul had his circle of personal 
companions and friends, to whose assistance he attri- 
butes no small measure of his success. To Luther's 
friends and the aid they rendered him in the carrying 
forward of his purposes, the world owes as great a 
debt of gratitude as to Luther himself. And it was 
through his friends that Wesley was instrumental in 
rousing all England to the necessity of a more earnest 
spiritual life. Every friend whose heart is knit with 
ours in the prosecution of some great interest, doubles 
our personal power and influence. 

One of the most gracious effects of friendship is 
the way in which it keeps the heart tender and true 
amid the many temporal and selfish pursuits in 
which our lives must be spent. It shows us that there 
is something in the world better than honor or power 
or wealth, and breaks down the artificial barriers that 
would otherwise separate man from man. The 
friendly man has a heart too big to be held within the 
restrictions of class, caste, or party. Mrs. Browning once 
said to Charles Kingsley, " What is the secret of your 
life? Tell me, that I may make mine beautiful, too." 
After a moment's pause, he replied, " I had a friend !" 

If you had the opportunity of acquiring ten thou- 



FRIENDSHIP. 46 1 

sand dollars or ten real friends, it would pay you bet- 
ter, in point of happiness as in point of everything 
else, to choose the friends. I fail to see how a man 
without friends can be happy. Aristotle says, " Who- 
soever is delighted in solitude, is either a wild beast 
or a god." He that has friends finds all his pleasures 
multiplied and all his griefs assuaged. They bring in 
to us a constant revenue of delight. They are banks, 
as it were, in which we can deposit happiness against 
future emergencies. " A brother is born for adversity." 
Distress and grief come to all; but in the hour of 
trouble the voices of our most intimate companions 
may bring unspeakable comfort. No amount of 
knowledge, fame, or money can compensate for the 
lack of friends. Life without them is poor indeed. 

Seeing, then, that friends are so desirable, one of 
the most important of all practical questions that can 
come up for our consideration, is how these personal 
friendships are to be established. How are we to 
make friends? To me it is an unquestionable mark 
of the Divine benevolence that we are all created with 
so strong a bias in the right direction. Men come into 
the world with a tendency toward friendship, just as 
they are born with a bias toward patriotism, mat- 
rimony, and religion. Our natural instinct is to make 
friends. 

Of the truth of this statement almost every child 
furnishes a conspicuous example. You notice with 
pain and surprise that your own well beloved boy has 
as strong a propensity as an unsophisticated puppy- 
dog toward establishing intimate companionships with 



46 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

everybody. He feels no need of formal introductions. 
He breaks down all barriers of caste and reserve. He 
makes no discrimination against rags and filth. He 
is the most democratic being on the face of the earth. 
In the way of establishing friendships, he is a prodi- 
gious success. He becomes acquainted in the morning, 
is on terms of tenderest intimacy before noon, and an 
hour afterward he has probably had a little disagree- 
ment with the friend of his bosom, and has cut short 
this rank familiarity with blows and blood. He is so 
social ! 

It is not only children that give an illustration of 
the workings of this natural instinct. In those adults 
whose regulative faculties have received but a meagre 
development, and who are therefore led largely by the 
instincts, this proclivity toward friendship becomes 
prominent. We all know men and women whose 
facility in establishing attachments is well nigh mirac- 
ulous. , They wear the heart upon the sleeve. They 
are but children of a larger growth. They are led by 
the natural feelings and impulses of their being. They 
become so confidential on short notice that within a 
day or two you may learn every detail of their char- 
acter and history. But equally remarkable is the 
facility with which they will cast off the old friends of 
yesterday for the new friends of to-morrow. Feeling 
angry, or disappointed, or tired, they straightway be- 
take themselves to fresh fields of intimacy. They 
may have many good natural parts, but they are un- 
developed and shallow. The only principle that seems 
to guide them in the formation of their friendships is 



FRIENDSHIP. 463 

that of local association. Let them simply be brought 
into contact with another human being, and the nat- 
ural instinct accomplishes all the rest. There is 
no trouble in making friends if one is not at all par- 
ticular. 

As character develops, this natural attraction to- 
ward friendship is found to be strongest between indi- 
viduals to whom some great interest or pursuit is 
common. A process of natural selection goes on, by 
which men of the same professions, the same ways of 
thinking, the same tastes, the same moral and reli- 
gious enthusiasms are drawn toward one another. 
Napoleon, standing beside the tomb of Frederick the 
Great, declared, " I wish I had known Frederick the 
Great ; I think we should have understood each 
other." 

" Great souls by instinct to each other turn, 
Demand alliance, and in friendship burn." 

Thus is the old proverb established that " birds of a 
feather flock together." Tell me the class of compan- 
ions that a man habitually seeks, and it will throw the 
strongest light on his individual character. He that 
finds an affinity in the society of the wicked must 
have something wrong in him. He may, for the time 
being, reveal no canker of evil to the outside world ; 
but the symptoms are all there ; and the disease is 
bound to develop itself in due course of time. 

We form friends in the line of common interests 
and spiritual affinities. Two youths were boon com- 
panions at college ; but the one becomes a merchant, 



464 ' BE A TEN PA THS. 

and the other a priest ; and the disruption of the com- 
mon interest dissolves the old intimacy. The young- 
mother finds in her little babe a force that makes her 
gravitate toward the society of matrons, whose cares 
and fears and hopes are kindred with her own. The 
wedding bells ring, and it is two friends as well as 
lovers, that stand before the altar and vow by all that 
is sacred to cherish one another till death ; but unless 
the common interest be carefully guarded by each, 
disappointment and distress will come to that home 
whose foundations are being laid with pledge and 
prayer. Where the wife loses all concern for that 
sphere in which her husband habitually moves, and 
the husband, on his part, becomes so much of a bus- 
iness machine as to grow away from the home inter- 
est, the old friendship will be seriously impaired, if not 
destroyed. There is many a home in which the 
advent of a little helpless stranger laying siege to 
two diverging hearts, proves to be God's wise pre- 
servative of that finest type of intimacy which earth 
affords. 

Thus, in the formation of our friendships, we must 
have not only the natural instinct and the local 
association, but also some congeniality in those pur- 
suits, interests, and characters which our complex civ- 
ilization tends to develop. 

The one remaining condition of friendship is that 
it must be formed by mutual consent. How can two 
walk together unless they be agreed? The very 
nature of friendship implies an interchange of thought, 
of courtesy, of life. There are people whose very 



FRIENDSHIP. 465 

disposition prevents them from forming friendships of 
the highest grade. They are too cautious, too re- 
served, too exacting. They act as if they expected 
the intimacy to come altogether from one side. They 
are willing to be courted themselves, but will do no 
courting in return. They will have you take all 
pains to be agreeable to them, but they will take no 
pains to render themselves agreeable to you. Under 
such circumstances no friendship can be established ; 
if friendship is not mutual it is nothing. 

We need to remember, therefore, that if we would 
have friends we must show ourselves friendly. We 
must be ready to discharge our side of the unwritten 
compact, no matter how much effort or pains it may 
cost us to do so. 

" Who seeks a friend, should come disposed 
T exhibit, in full bloom disclosed, 

The graces and the beauties 
That form the character he seeks ; 
For 'tis a union that bespeaks 

Reciprocated duties." 

When, therefore, you hear people lamenting that they 
have no friends, that nobody seems disposed to court 
their acquaintance, the reason should be apparent. 
Others do not take an interest in them because they do 
not take an interest in others, Good friends, like most 
of the other good things in life, must be sought in order 
to be found. Friends do not come by chance any 
more than wealth or learning or moral character. If 
you wish them, you must seek them, and you must 



466 BE A TEN PA THS. 

come prepared to fulfill your part in that " union 
which bespeaks reciprocated duties." 

This suggests a question as to the sphere that 
choice ought to play in the selection of one's friends. 
For in this matter, choice has its use as well as its 
abuse. The abuse consists in singling out some prom- 
inent individual and declaring " Go to, let us become 
this man's friend ! " The kingdom of the affections, 
however, is not to be taken by violence. One has no 
more right to attempt friendship by force than to 
attempt forcing another into matrimony. The utmost 
that is permitted us is to make a few unembarrassing 
advances and then wait until they are favorably re- 
ceived. Choice, however, has a legitimate function. 
Out of thirty or a hundred individuals with whom we 
are thrown into local association and with whom we 
have some special community of interest, we ought to 
select a certain number to be our more intimate com- 
panions ; and we should make this selection on the 
basis of those highest considerations to which reason 
and conscience lend approval. Be as wise in the se- 
lection of your friends as in investing in town lots or 
horses or bonnets. Scrutinize, compare, experiment ; 
and shun like poison the society of the man whose in- 
tercourse does aught to impair your reverence for 
what is great and true and holy. When a choice has 
thus been formed, nature may be allowed to take her 
own course. We can guide nature ; we cannot force 
her. Plant the seed of friendship, and she will mature 
it in her own good time. 

Such a choice as this, actuated as it is by the highest 



FRIENDSHIP. 467 

considerations, is far from that which arises only from 
motives of prudence. Indeed, it is exceedingly doubt- 
ful whether any friendship can grow out of a mere 
regard for our own interests. Where one is choosing 
intimate companions with the thought that they may 
be of benefit to him in some worldly way by advan- 
cing his financial interests or giving him an introduc- 
tion into a higher grade of society than that to which 
he has been accustomed, he can hardly be said to be 
seeking friends ; it is rather assistants, servants, tools, 
that he is in search of. Friendship is disinterested, 
seeketh not its own, is an end in itself, is altogether 
lovely, and must be wooed and won for its own sake 
only. He that would have it must set his heart upon 
it, rather than upon the blessings that it is able to 
confer. 

In this way friendships are established. In every 
great and growing life the process of their formation 
should never cease. As one gains new interests and 
comes into new surroundings, he ought to develop 
new companionships and attachments. The healthy 
spirit will always be alive to its opportunity. It is 
easy to settle down in the old thoughts, plans, methods, 
and to calmly close our eyes toward the future. But 
the merchant who does that goes into bankruptcy; the 
thinker who does that loses his hold upon the rising 
generation ; and the friend who does that commits 
suicide on the affections. Let the watchword ever be 
progress. You have a past, to be sure ; but the 
future is infinitely larger and better than the past. 
Never turn your face to the rear and begin beating 



468 BE A TEN PA THS. 

time, while the years are scurrying by. On the hori- 
zon there are always looming up new sights, new ex- 
periencies, new truths, new companionships ; and the 
live and growing man will take to new friends just as 
easily as to new discoveries in science. 

The tendency of these new friendships is not to weaken 
the old, but rather to strengthen and preserve them. 
Just as business firms keep out of the ruts and pre- 
serve their vitality by taking in new partners, so will 
you best keep the old friendships fresh and intact by 
establishing new ones. Fill up the ranks with new 
recruits ; and if they are raw and young, so much the 
better. When a man gets to be so old that he has no 
longer a place in his heart for young people, he is old 
enough to be buried. One of the most beautiful and 
suggestive sights in the world is that afforded by the 
fellowship of the old with the young. 

It is one thing to make friends, and another thing 
to keep them. They will certainly cost us something 
in many ways; for friendship means love, and love 
means sacrifice. The ministers tell a story of the 
man who made his boast that the gospel was free, 
arguing on the ground that he himself had enjoyed its 
privileges for twenty years, during which time it had 
cost him only twenty-five cents. Friendship, how- 
ever, does not come quite so cheap. You cannot 
afford to be a constant recipient of favors from others 
without endeavoring to make some substantial return. 
Otherwise your character as a friend would become 
submerged and lost in that of a dependent. 

There are some refined forms of selfishness that no 



FRIENDSHIP. 469 

friendship can tolerate. If, for example, you would 
keep your friend, you must not attempt to drain him 
of his sympathies every time you meet. There are 
those who go about the world in a constant frame of 
melancholy, demanding consolation from every quar- 
ter, and giving nothing in return. In extreme cases 
they may even weep while protesting that nobody loves 
them, that, in fact, they have not a friend in the 
world. They certainly will not have a friend in the 
world, if they continue this practice for any length of 
time. There are occasions in life when you need 
sympathy and ought to have it. But if our friends 
are gracious enough to give it to us then, we should 
remember to faithfully return it all to them in the 
days to come. If you expect them to consider your 
trials, you must consider theirs. If you were to ask a 
dollar of your friend, he would -give it, expecting, of 
course, to receive it from you again. But if you were 
to ask a dollar every time you saw him, he would 
soon cease to regard you with any degree of kind- 
liness, and would walk half round the city rather than 
be compelled to listen to your entreaties. It is sub- 
stantially the same with sympathy : ask it of your 
friend and he will give it once, twice, thrice ; but con- 
tinue asking it, without making the slightest attempt to 
pay it back, and the bond of friendship will soon be 
broken. It cannot stand the strain of such unconscion- 
able selfishness as that. 

Be charitable toward the sins and short-comings of 
your friend. He has faults and blemishes, but you are 
not devoid of these things yourself. If you expect 



4 /O BE A TEN PA THS. 

him to make allowance for your defects, you must be 
prepared to extend a like degree of charity to him. 
He may disappoint and even annoy you in many 
ways ; but friendship demands that these things shall 
be borne and forgotten. There are no perfect friends 
on earth. If we understand this at the start, it will 
prove a safeguard against those extreme oscillations- 
of opinion which are so liable to occur in our esti- 
mates of others. 

By virtue of our friendship, we are the constituted 
defenders of those whom we love. There is something 
contemptible about the man who deserts his friends 
the moment that the sky grows dark and the storm 
begins to gather. Fair-weather friends are not friends 
at all ; they love fair weather rather than you. Next 
to the members of a man's own family, his friends 
should stand as his shelter and defense. Men expect 
you to act as your friend's advocate rather than as 
his judge. Stand up for him before the world. Shield 
him from harsh criticism. Let his virtues be known,, 
let his praises be spoken, and let his follies and vices 
receive from you such apology and extenuation as is 
meet and fitting. See how a mother feels toward her 
faulty boy, and you will learn how one friend should 
feel toward another. He who deserts his friend in 
time of trouble or disgrace may think he is acting 
conscientiously, but he is certainly taking anything 
other than the manly course. 

While, in our personal relations, we should do all 
we can to develop our friend's virtues and eradicate 
his faults, the selfishness of human nature is apt to 



FRIENDSHIP. 4 7 1 

make us altogether too sparing of our approval and 
too prodigal of our criticism. What a delicious thing 
it is to go to our best friends with the express deter- 
mination of opening up to them their faults and fail- 
ings, of mingling for them such a cup of gall and bit- 
terness as will make them writhe and squirm. And 
should they resent this method, how delightful is the 
feeling that at least we have done our duty, that we 
are martyrs for conscience' sake, and that in due time 
we shall assuredly receive our reward. To speak of 
such conduct as dutiful, is to mistake the devil for an 
angel of light. Never give a nauseous dose v/hen you 
can by any possibility avoid doing so. Never admin- 
ister a pill without coating and concealing it in sugar. 
Never try to make your friend feel more badly about 
his faults than you yourself feel about them. Where 
you grieve so intensely over his shortcomings that 
you can no longer remain silent, something must 
be said ; only let it be as brief and as affectionate as 
possible. 

Put forth your main effort toward making your 
friend positively good rather than negatively faultless. 
Men need to be built up in the line of their strongest 
virtues, rather than criticised for their defects. That 
New York clergyman was right who declared, " An 
ounce of taffy is better than a ton of epitaphy." Do 
not falsify matters ; do not strain a point to turn a 
compliment ; do not praise things that have no moral 
worth in them, such as beauty of person, or inherited 
wealth and social position. But where your friend is 

making: a vigorous and successful effort after better 
6 28 



472 BE A TEN PA THS. 

things, be generous with your approval and sympathy. 
If one is freckled and pug-nosed, he is apt to resent 
being told that he is a perfect image of Apollo. If 
we stamp across the drawing-room with the ponder- 
ous tread of an elephant, we feel like doing some- 
thing desperate to the wretch who dares to compli- 
ment us upon our commanding dignity and delibera- 
tion of movement. Nobody wants such compliments. 
Nobody needs them. But where we are trying to do 
our best, morally, mentally, practically, — and it is the 
hardest thing in the world to do one's best — a word 
or two of encouragement may prove exceedingly 
helpful. 

Sometime ago a fireman was trying to rescue a lit- 
tle child from the upper window of a burning build- 
ing. High up on the tottering ladder he stood, while 
the dense smoke blinded him, and the devouring 
flame angrily beat him back. It seemed impossible 
to save the life of the pleading child against such 
fearful odds ; and for a moment the fireman staggered, 
hesitated, and pressed his hand to his eyes with a ges- 
ture of despair. " Give him a cheer, boys, give him a 
cheer ! " cried someone in the crowd below. And as 
that multitude lifted up a thousand voices in one 
grand hurrah, spurred on by the shout of acclaim, the 
brave fellow fought his way through smoke and flame, 
and the deed that had seemed impossible was done ! 
That is the kind of encouragement our friends stand 
in need of. When they are doing grandly and are 
attempting things that seem to us impossible ; yes, 
when they are high up on the ladder where we our- 



FRIENDSHIP. 473 

selves dare not or could not go, let us stand about 
them and cry, Hurrah ! If we cannot do anything 
else, we can cheer ; and the strong, honest, unselfish 
cheer will come back upon us, and do our own hearts 
as much good as it does theirs. 

" The friends thou hast and their adoption tried, 
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel." 

Hold them in perpetual affection. Keep the heart 
true to them as the needle to the pole. They are 
worth more than all the treasures of the earth. They 
outlast the centuries. Distance and death take them 
from our sight, but they are our friends still. We 
shed tears when the vessel departs ; we weep over the 
tomb. But our friends are as much ours in the un- 
known region of the spirit as in the far off continent 
beyond the seas. They are taken from sight, but not 
from love. We still claim them as our own. We re- 
joice in a sense of their affection. And we wait in 
hope, looking forward to a reunion sometime, some- 
where, in this great universe of God ! For that blest 
day the heart sighs with unutterable longing, and no 
sophistries of man can persuade us that we shall not 
see its dawn. 

" No seas again shall sever, 
No desert intervene, 
No deep sad-flowing river 
Shall roll its tides between : 
Love and unsevered union 
Of soul with those we love, 
Nearness and glad communion 
Shall be our joy above." 



XXI. 
LOVE, COURTSHIP, AND MATRIMONY. 



" When you go to sea, pray once ; when you go to war, pray twice ; 
when you marry, pray three times." 

— Russian Proverb. 

" Even as rivulets twain, from distant and separate sources, 
Seeing each other afar, as they leaped from the rocks, and pursuing 
Each one its devious path, but drawing nearer and nearer, 
Rush together at last at their trysting-place in the forest ; 
So these lives that had run thus far in separate channels, 
Coming in sight of each other, then swerving and flowing asunder,. 
Parted by barriers strong, but drawing nearer and nearer, 
Rushed together at last, and one was lost in the other." 

— Longfellow. 

LITTLE Roman Catholic girl, 
who was supposed to have mas- 
tered her catechism, was once 
asked to define the Sacrament of 
Matrimony. " It is," said she, "a 
state of torment into which souls 
enter to prepare them foranother 
and a better world." She had evidently confounded mat- 
rimony with purgatory. And yet there are not wanting 
those who would accept her definition as substantially 
correct. For to-day we are listening to discussions on 
a question that never seems to have agitated the minds 




LOVE, COURTSHIP, AND MATRIMONY. 477, 

of our unsophisticated ancestors, namely, Is marriage 
a failure? There seem to be so many mal-adjustments 
in the married state, divorces are so numerous, scandals 
so many, and domestic quarrels so common, that the 
philosophers have taken the matter in hand, and are 
asking whether, notwithstanding the glamour that 
poetry and romance have thrown around the married 
state, it is not, after all, a delusion and a snare. 

If the object of the discussion is simply to elicit the 
truth, it might be wiser to put the question the other 
w r ay. Instead of asking, Is marriage a failure, let us 
ask, Is celibacy a failure ? Are not old maidenhood 
and old bachelorhood, according to the average 
experience, the most unquestionable failures that the 
domestic world contains ? A cautious Scotchman was 
once lecturing his daughter on this very subject. 
"Jeanie," said he, "it is a very solemn thing to get 
married." "I ken that, father," retorted the quick- 
witted lassie, "but it's a great deal solemner to remain 
single." To this conclusion the common sense of 
mankind has always pointed in the past, and will 
always arrive throughout the future. Marriage is the 
law of nature ; and to attempt upsetting nature by 
argument, is as ridiculous as to attempt drawing an 
inference with a span of mules. With you there will 
hardly be a question of marrying or not marrying; but 
only of marrying at the first chance or waiting for 
something better. 

Notwithstanding all that has been said to the con- 
trary, you are justified in looking forward to the 
married state with hopeful anticipations. On the first 



478 BE A TEN PA THS. 

page of the Bible, I find the Creator represented as 
rejoicing in that distinction of sex which He had 
established. " And God created man in his own 
image, in the image of God created he him ; male and 
female created he them. And God blessed them." 
When the morning stars sang together and nature 
flushed with newness of life, the first marriage took 
place in Paradise, God Himself performing the cere- 
mony and pronouncing the benediction. 

And when you consider the rashness and haste of 
men and women in entering into this relationship ; 
when you consider with what little knowledge of char- 
acter, of life, and of practical affairs two individuals 
can persuade one another to take this most critical 
step ; when you consider what little place is given to- 
reason, and what an almost unlimited sphere is allowed 
to instinct in entering upon this life-partnership, the 
wonder is that marriages result as happily as they 
uniformly do. On the right hand and on the left, 
happy unions are to be counted by the score, while 
unhappiness through the married state is the excep- 
tion. If you are searching for proof of the benevo- 
lence of Providence, do you not find it here? So uni- 
formly does marriage prove a blessing to the race, 
that one is almost tempted to declare any marriage 
better than none at all. 

Yet when you reflect upon it, what an exceedingly 
critical step this is for two young people to take ! If 
I make a mistake in entering the grocery business, I 
can easily retrace my steps and devote my energies to 
something else. If I discover that I have acted fool- 



LOVE, COURTSHIP, AND MATRIMONY. 479 

ishly in beginning the study of German, I can drop 
that pursuit and take up with some other. But should 
I discover that I have allied myself to the wrong in- 
dividual in matrimony, there is no help for me ! Lord 
Burleigh, writing to his son on this subject, said, " It is 
an action of thy life, like unto a stratagem of war, 
wherein a man can err but once." 

Hence it is well to take a wide survey of our con- 
templated course at the very start. The Russian 
proverb says, " Measure your cloth ten times, for you 
can cut it only once." Before you plunge into the 
danger, stop until you realize what the danger really 
is. Matrimony, let us remember, involves a union of 
two beings for life. And there is no interest, personal 
and private, social and domestic, intellectual, moral, 
or religious, that is not imperilled by such an alliance. 
The poet sings, 

" Domestic Happiness, thou only bliss 
Of Paradise that hast survived the Fall ! " 

But there are marriages in which domestic happiness 
does not appear to have survived the fall : it seems 
to be as far removed as Adam and Eve, to say the 
very least. 

A gentleman who had been somewhat unfortunate 
in his choice of a wife, was once reproaching a Quaker 
friend of his, because the latter had advised him to 
get married. " Why," he remonstrated, " you told me 
that if I would only get married, I should be at the 
end of all my troubles." 

" Yes, friend," responded the Quaker, " but I did 
not tell thee at which end ! " 



480 BE A TEN PA THS. 

To the young gentlemen who are rashly contem- 
plating matrimony, let me commend the wisdom of 
the Japanese as embodied in their proverb, " A tongue 
three inches long can kill a man six feet high." Or 
should this statement seem a little wide of the mark 
in your own particular case, here is another from the 
same Oriental source : " Beware of a beautiful woman; 
she is like pepper" — from the fact, I suppose, that 
though she seems so beautiful to the eye, she is able 
to make somebody smart, should he venture on a 
more intimate acquaintance. 

But why go to the heathen Japanese for our wis- 
dom, when we have at hand the sagacious words of 
Solomon, that much married gentleman of antiquity ? 
It appears that having escaped for a season from the 
domestic tempest below to the quiet of his palace 
roof, he reflected, 

" It is better to dwell in the corner of the house-top 
Than with a contentious woman in a wide house." 

And so impressed was he with the appositeness of this 
reflection that he inserts it twice within the compass 
of five chapters of his book of Proverbs. At another 
time when the palace roof became leaky during the 
rainy season and the drops fell one after another with 
ceaseless and irritating ^monotony, this experienced 
sage began to console himself with the reflection, that 
after all, there are other evils in life quite as bad as a 
leaking roof, and he wrote, 

" A continual dropping in a very rainy day, 
And a contentious woman are alike." 



LOVE, COURTSHIP, AND MATRIMONY. 48 1 

These surely are danger signals, that the inspired 
word would hang out before every young man who 
proposes to enter the married state. 

But there is another side to the question, to which 
those of the opposite sex might well call our attention. 
It is not always the wife to whom the loss of domestic 
happiness is to be attributed. There are careless hus- 
bands, selfish husbands, husbands who are so absorbed 
in business that they violate all the responsibilities 
which the home places upon them. There are hus- 
bands who take such a decided interest in the club, or 
in politics, or in " a man down town," that the home 
life suffers every evening from their neglect. There 
are incompetent husbands, drunken husbands, brutal 
husbands, mean husbands. Not to dwell on the extra- 
ordinary cases, let me suggest that if any young 
lady should be so unfortunate as to fall in love with a 
careful, close-fisted, parsimonious specimen of human- 
ity, she had better prepare herself from the start to go 
through a life of positive beggary. In that neat little 
arrangement which prevails at the present time, 
wherein the husband is usually the financial partner of 
the firm while the wife supplies the brains, the lot of 
a great number, possibly of even the majority of our 
married women, is worse, financially speaking, than if 
they had simply hired themselves out to their hus- 
bands as domestic servants. There are women who 
toil steadily every day in the year, and who are yet 
compelled almost to get on their knees and beg for 
every penny they would expend upon themselves. In 
these modern days there are opening up to women so 



48 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

many different fields of employment that they are no 
longer under the necessity of exchanging a state of 
helpless dependence upon a father for one of help- 
less dependence upon a husband. The cases of con- 
jugal pauperism that fall under our observation serve 
to illustrate the fact that a plunge into matrimony is 
not always a leap into Paradise. 

But there is something in life more valuable than 
money, or happiness even, and it is this that becomes 
most imperilled by an unwise marriage. The ruin of 
our fortunes or of our peace is not to be compared 
with the ruin and degradation of ourselves. In that 
most intimate form of companionship which marriage 
involves, that companionship which we must endure 
and from which there is no escape, a coarse, uncultured,, 
or evil partner will work intellectual and moral deter- 
ioration to the other. There is many an intellectual 
and educated woman of whom one might say what 
Steele said of Lady Elizabeth Hastings, that "to 
know her is a liberal education." But there are others 
who can never converse upon anything higher than 
the last case of measles or the newest thing in bon- 
nets. There are men whose very presence sets the 
mind aglow and makes the wits sparkle; and there 
are men whose presence puts a damper upon anything 
higher than animal content. To strive for intellectual 
and spiritual communion with them, is like attempting 
to kindle a bonfire with floating driftwood in the mid- 
dle of the Atlantic. Tennyson outlines the fate of 
more than one disappointed woman, when he sings in 
"Locksley Hall:" 



LOVE, COURTSHIP,. AND MATRIMONY. 483 

" Yet it shall be : thou shalt lower to his level 
day by day, 

What is fine within thee growing coarse to sym- 
pathize with clay. 

As the husband is, the wife is : thou art mated 
with a clown, 

And the grossness of his nature will have weight 
to drag thee down. 

He will hold thee, when his passion shall have 
spent its novel force, 

Something better than his dog, a little dearer 
than his horse." 

Great as may be the risks that men run in entering- 
the married relation, those that are run by women are 
infinitely greater. Marriage to a man can hardly be 
said to represent one half of what it signifies to her 
who becomes his wife. The man may escape to his 
business, to his club, to a dozen different places ; but 
for the woman there is no escape from the home. Its 
duties are always present to her, and its cares always 
perplex her. Her work and interest centre in the one 
spot that she calls home, and should it prove a disap- 
pointment to her, life would have little compensation 
to offer. 

Inasmuch as the risks in matrimony seem so great, 
it may become a matter of astonishment to the philo- 
sophical mind how any sane individual can be induced 
into wedlock. Nature seems to have anticipated the 
difficulty, however, for she leads human beings along 
toward this dangerous destination by one of the 
strongest principles of their being. In other words, 
she causes them to fall in love. There never has been. 



484 BE A TEN PA THS. 

there never can be any adequate study of human na- 
ture that leaves out of account this mysterious and 
powerful principle. We are accustomed to speak of 
it lightly and flippantly in our conversation, but it de- 
serves a nobler treatment. We talk of Cupid as 
entangling some unfortunate couple in the fatal 
meshes ; but if our theology is not at fault, what the 
heathen spoke of as Cupid, it becomes you and me to 
speak of as God. 

Love, in its higher manifestations, is surely a breath 
from the Spirit of God, a fire from the altars of 
Heaven. Its grandeur has furnished a theme for the 
poet from the beginning of literature. It ushers in 
life's age of gold, and gives to mortals a foretaste of 
Paradise. Never does the world seem so beautiful, or 
human life so full of promise, as to him who is in love. 
Never does manhood appear so august or woman- 
hood so queenly, as when dominated by this principle. 
Love stimulates the intellect, fires the imagination, 
rouses the courage, purifies the heart, and quickens 
the sentiments of religion. Love inspires the poet's 
lyre, the painter's brush, and the lips of the orator, 
and turns every common man into a hero. Love 
gives to the spiritual in man an overweening influ- 
ence, and chastens the soul till every hidden thought 
is pure as snow. Love treads all common and 
earthly affairs beneath its feet, walks on air, laughs 
at impossibilities, scouts the cunning persuasions 
of prudence, flings worldly maxims to the winds, 
refuses acknowledgment to facts, "beareth all things, 
believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all 



LOVE, COURTSHIP, AND MATRIMONY. 485 

things." The saintly Doctor Goodell spoke the truth 
when he said, " I did not fall in love ; I rose ! " Love 
is the mightiest factor in the shaping of human life 
and destiny. 

Hence it becomes an interesting and profitable 
study for us to pursue the enquiry as to how, or under 
what circumstances, this mighty passion is developed. 
So far as we can see, simple companionship is all that, 
is necessary. 

" For man is fire, and woman is tow, 

And the Somebody comes and begins to blow." 

That is what the poet says, and the poets are always 
wise. Let two young people be thrown into one 
another's society, and nature will do all the rest. 
Hence love is all the time developing itself in the 
most unlikely places. It is a possibility in almost any 
circumstances that bring the sexes together. The 
young gentleman of three-and-twenty has been known 
to fall helplessly in love with a lady on the other side 
of fifty ; and gentle maidens in their teens have fallen 
to worshipping the very ground on which treads some 
gallant hero of sixty. What is a slight disparity of 
thirty or forty years to love, that passion which is as 
old as Eve and as young as the youngest face whose 
blushing cheeks and downcast eyes make sweet con- 
fession ! 

Love is liable, like dynamite, to go off at any time 
and under any circumstances ; but unquestionably 
there are conditions that ought to be labelled, Extra 
Hazardous ! If " man is fire, and woman is tow," as 



486 BE A TEN PA THS. 

the poet sings, there are circumstances that most pow- 
erfully dispose the sparks to fly from that fire into 
that tow — sparking circumstances, we might term 
them ! These must be especially avoided by all who 
do not wish to behold a conflagration. A pretty 
teacher was once instructing her Sunday-school class 
on the first miracle at Cana in Galilee. "Johnny," 
said she, " can you tell me what is meant by a mira- 
cle ? " "Yes'm," replied the boy. "Mother says if 
you don't marry the new parson, 'twill be a miracle ! " 

I preach one supreme condition for success- 
ful marriage, honest, genuine, old-fashioned, all- 
absorbing love. I have faith in the unions where that 
is present ; I have no faith at all in those where it is 
not to be found. A supreme affection between two is 
the indispensable condition of happiness in the mar- 
ried state. I would therefore most heartily endorse 
the advice that was given on this subject by a some- 
what cynical individual to his friend. " You ask," said 
he, "whether you had not better get married. My 
advice to you is, Dorit — unless you can't help your- 
self." If you have an affection that holds you to one 
individual as steadily as the needle is attracted to the 
North, an affection that is overpowering and well nigh 
irresistible, an affection that constrains you, disquiets 
you, and impels you, then of course you must yield 
to the inevitable and bear your fate, as well as 
you can. 

But to this piece of advice, I would add another. 
If you have not any better reason than love for get- 
ting married, it would be wiser to remain single. Love, 



LOVE, COURTSHIP, AND MATRIMONY. 487 

you know, is proverbially blind. While it is so ma- 
jestic and powerful, it is also at times the stupidest 
thing that can be imagined. It is a regular blind 
Samson, liable at any moment to pull out the pillars 
of reason and conscience, and bring the universe 
crashing about our ears. In other words, love, like all 
other blind instincts, needs control and direction. It 
must be made obedient to the dictates of wisdom. To 
give love supreme control, is like putting the chariot- 
reins into the hands of a blind driver, and then bidding 
him whip up the firey steeds. That is a sure way of 
bringing on catastrophe. 

John Ruskin says that the greater part of the evils 
incident to married life arise from falling- in love with 

o 

the wrong person. Such a fall is a fall indeed, and 
ought to be chronicled among the lists of fatal acci- 
dents. We occasionally see and hear intimations to 
the effect that the affections will not lend themselves 
to the control of the cooler judgment and reason, that, 
in fact, falling in love is just falling: after you have 
begun, there is no help for you ; you must go right 
through till you stop at the bottom. But what I wish 
to indicate is that no human being is under the neces- 
sity of falling — you never begin to drop until you 
have let go. It is the sheerest nonsense to say that 
the affections cannot be controlled. You might as 
well declare that a man cannot control his appetite; 
that if he craves pickles, for example, knowing that 
pickles mean dyspepsia and death, pickles he must 
eat ! 

Should a man find himself beginning to crave the 



488 BE A TEN PA THS. 

society of a certain individual who is destitute of 
those qualities that give efficiency in the making of a 
home, destitute of good sense, of skill, of taste, of 
moral principle and religious convictions, the best 
thing he can do is to stop short at once, and retrieve 
his indiscretion as well as he can. If a lady should 
find herself becoming partial to the society of some 
young fellow who has nothing more than his good 
clothes and pleasant manners to commend him, a 
young fellow whose habits of idleness and self-indul- 
gence have rendered him incompetent to take a man's 
place, do a man's work, and receive a man's reward in 
the world, the best thing she can do is to put a 
damper immediately upon that foolish attachment. 
Such a course may occasion a few heartbreaks in the 
present, but it will prevent an infinitely greater num- 
ber of heartbreaks in the future. 

Love should be guided by choice. With Adam it 
was a question of Eve or nobody ; his descendants, 
however, are permitted to be more select. Tennyson's 
Northern Farmer was half right when he advised his 
son as follows : 

" Doant thou marry for munny, but goa wheer munny is ! " 

I say the man was half right in giving such advice. 
He was wrong in so far as he intimated the supreme 
desirability of money. The man who deliberately 
chooses a helpmeet with the idea of living upon and 
enjoying her money, is destitute of the first principles 
of manhood. But this Northern Farmer is right in so 
far as he intimates that if we only choose and culti- 



LOVE, COURTSHIP, AND MATRIMONY. 



vate the society of somebody whom cool common 
sense pronounces worthy, love will come of itself. It 
is like smallpox or measles or scarlet fever in this 
respect, that one is almost sure to catch it where he 
exposes himself to it seven evenings a week and takes 
no precaution against the infection. The old order 
of love, courtship, and matrimony should be changed 
so as to bring courtship first. 

Love is something that ought to develop gradu- 
ally on a basis of esteem ; and where we cannot 
esteem another, we should be ashamed to think of 
falling in love in that particular quarter. Instances 
of love at first sight play a prominent part in the 
story-books; but in practical life love at first sight is 
apt to. end in aversion at second sight, or in disgust 
and loathing at third sight, after the marriage knot 
has been tied and the way of escape is cut off. I lay 
stress upon the necessity of a thorough acquaintance 
before the final step is taken. If you were choosing 
a friend in whose society you expected to spend the 
next year or two, how careful you would be ! How 
much more careful should you be in choosing the com- 
panion with whom you expect to spend the next forty 
or fifty years ! Love on a basis of intimate acquaint- 
ance is the only safe and rational course. Where two 
people do not know one another, how can they be 
sure that they love one another ? 

In this connection, let me suggest that the judgment 
of a wise and unworldly father and mother, as also 
the judgment of one's own tried friends, is to be 
obtained and heeded. Their opinion may be wrong ; 



490 BE A TEN PA THS. 

but there are nine chances in ten that it will be right 
The fathers and mothers who have had forty, fifty, or 
sixty years of experience in the practical affairs of life, 
may be supposed to be better judges of human nature 
than young philosophers of eighteen and twenty. 
There are many things in which we may be blind and 
headstrong ; but marriage is too critical a step for 
us to take without a reasonable assurance that we are 
acting wisely. 

What, then, are those qualities of body, mind, or 
estate that should lead us to cherish the acquaintance 
of any individual with the view of ultimately loving 
and getting married ? I put on the lowest plane such 
external advantages as wealth, title, or social position. 
No doubt these things are desirable, but they are the 
least desirable of all the elements that figure in a 
wise matrimonial choice. The picture of foreign 
aristocrats seeking American heiresses and of Amer- 
ican heiresses marrying a title rather than a man, is 
not a pleasant one. It reflects little credit on the sin- 
cerity of our democratic utterances. That marriages 
of this sort should result in unhappiness, is not to be 
wondered at. 

Next to these external advantages will come those 
physical charms that are everywhere recognized and 
valued. Beauty of face and figure, grace and dignity 
of carriage, refined and winning manners, are unques- 
tionably attractive. No doubt the most excellent 
goods are at times wrapped up in homely packages ; 
but where you can get the same grade of goods in 
neat and attractive packages, you will probably be 



LOVE, COURTSHIP, AND MATRIMONY. 491 

moved to choose accordingly. At the same time it 
is well to understand that an ample purse and a pretty- 
face are the least things that go into the making of a 
happy home. Adolphus may be very rich and hand- 
some, but if he is not something more than that, he is 
not likely to make a good husband. When you see a 
man whose years should have taught him wisdom, and 
who has hitherto remained impregnable against the 
assaults of the fair sex — when, in fact, you see an old 
bachelor falling in love with a pair of pretty eyes and 
proposing matrimony on the spot, there you see an 
old bachelor making a consummate fool of himself. 
Pretty eyes are all right in their place ; but they fur- 
nish small guarantee of domestic happiness. It takes 
something more than pretty eyes to superintend the 
larder, ward off calamity, and reduce the hired domes- 
tic into submission. 

There is something higher than beauty, and the 
greater emphasis should always be placed upon it. 
For want of a better name we may speak of it as 
capacity. Every young man with matrimonial inten- 
tions should be made to face the question, Are you 
able to support a home ? And every young lady who 
is willing to encourage such intentions, should be 
brought face to face with the question, Are you com- 
petent to guide and manage the affairs of such a 
home ? This does not mean simply, Are you able to 
keep house ; but can you do so with tact, with refine- 
ment, with cheerfulness, with good temper ? Can you 
make the domestic affairs run so smoothly that the 
life of the home will be restful and delightful to all its 



49 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

inmates ? Can you brook opposition and bear trouble, 
as well as cook beefsteak, with a serene heart and a 
smiling face ? 

These questions are not unworthy of consideration. 
I would not be understood to hold that women must 
be measured simply by their ability to discharge the 
little drudgeries incident to domestic life. I despise that 
whole theory of woman's sphere and mission voiced 
by Byron when he said he would have the reading of 
the other sex confined to the Bible and the cookery- 
book. The civilization that does not accord to 
woman the amplest opportunity for the development 
of her intellectual, social, and spiritual powers, is a 
disgrace on the very name of civilization. But at the 
same time, one cannot overlook the fact that there 
are incompetent women, who are so utterly indiffer- 
ent to the obligation of becoming home-makers in 
every noble sense of that word, that they even glory in 
their incompetence. Beware of the woman who feels, 
that there is any higher mission in life than the mak- 
ing of a home ! Beware of the peevish woman and the 
slatternly woman! Beware of the woman who can 
never become anything more than a doll-wife, like the 
Dora of David Copperfield! Beware of all whose 
dispositions, habits, and education unfit them for dis- 
charging the duties that marriage involves ! 

But, on the other hand, there are some male incom- 
petents, against whom every young lady would do 
well to be on her guard. Beware of the lazy man ! 
Beware of the man who has never fitted himself to 
take a man's full part in the life and work of the 



LOVE, COURTSHIP, AND MATRIMONY. 493 

world ! Beware of the man who is forever losing his 
situation ! Beware of the selfish and self-indulgent 
man ! Beware of the man of dissolute habits ! Be- 
ware of the drunkard ! The inability of such men to 
sustain a home is more than doubtful. To marry any 
one of them would be to throw domestic happiness 
overboard forever. 

But more important than the question of capacity 
is that of congeniality. What suits you will never suit 
your next door neighbor, depend upon it. There is as 
much difference in personal tastes as in noses and ears. 
Birds of a feather get on very well together ; but where 
the chicken is mated to the hawk, there is little do- 
mestic happiness in store — for the chicken. Two cats 
are congenial companions in the kitchen, and two dogs 
in the kennel ; but where one cat is obliged to remain 
in the society of one dog, domestic incompatibility is 
apt to develop itself. Let us take the lower animals 
for our teachers. Any great disparity in social posi- 
tion, fortune, years, education, and tastes, works 
against a happy union. The millionaire's daughter 
would get along most admirably with one of her own 
kind ; but when she aspires to the hand of the family 
coachman and marries him, she finds the responsibili- 
ties and honors of her new position altogether too 
great for her. It is all very well for the novelists to 
write of the opulent youth who marries some sweet 
rustic maid, and is happy forever after ; but in practi- 
cal life the rusticity of the maid is apt to give serious 
and constant offence to her urbane and polished hus- 
band. 



494 BEA TEN PA THS - 

George MacDonald defines love as " the attraction 
of correlative unlikeness." Where you find two pieces 
of timber that perfectly dovetail into one another, 
there you find what corresponds to correlative unlike- 
ness ; the ends that dovetail are evidently unlike, but 
evidently correlated. One cannot measure congen- 
iality by rule and compass. The only adequate test 
is that which comes through a long and thorough 
acquaintance. And if such an acquaintance were to 
become the customary thing before matrimony, we 
should hear much less than we do of homes disrupted 
and marriage bonds dissolved on the ground of in- 
compatibility. 

There is something, however, more excellent and 
desirable than anything I have yet mentioned, namely, 
character. This is concerned not with outward attrac- 
tions, not with natural gifts and acquired facilities, 
but with those inward principles and motives of the 
life upon which all outward conduct turns. The man 
whose life is guided by moral principle, and who is 
daily and hourly striving to know and to do what is 
right, is likely to make a most creditable husband. But 
he w T ho is lax and indifferent to moral interests, he who 
holds low views of human nature, especially when that 
nature is found in the other sex, he whose virtue is 
known to have a market value, and who expends his 
energies in excusing and palliating his vices, rather 
than in condemning and forsaking them — he is to be 
shunned as if he were a viper. To receive a proposal 
of matrimony from such a moral leper, should be re- 
garded by every virtuous young woman as one of the 



LOVE, COURTSHIP, AND MATRIMONY. 495 

greatest insults to which she could be subjected. 

I believe in women of character ; I believe in strong 
minded women ; I believe in women who cannot be 
moved by a single hair's breadth from the path of 
duty. There are thousands and millions of such 
women, who may be trusted always and everywhere 
to walk by the light of conscience, and by that alone. 
He who allies himself to a woman of this sort obtains 
a wife who is a fortune in herself, and whose price is 
above rubies. But where moral character is undevel- 
oped and moral principle lacking, matrimony means 
putting your head into the lion's mouth ! 

These are some of the essentials of what may be 
called a successful marriage. But in matrimony you 
must not expect too much. Perfect couples are as rare 
as perfect individuals. Every union involves more or 
less of compromise. Conspicuous success in matrimony 
is about as hard to win as conspicuous success in the 
grocery trade, in law, or in politics. But a fair meas- 
ure of success is not only attainable ; it is almost an 
assured thing to those who seek counsel from wisdom, 
conscience, and religion, and do not allow blind im- 
pulse to shape the action of the hour. 

I cannot too strongly impress upon you the neces- 
sity of seeking this higher spiritual guidance. Surely 
if there is any step in life about which the sanctities 
of religion need to be thrown, it is this. Here where 
the voice of reason is so weak and the voice of pas- 
sion so strong ; here where the unseen and spiritual 
qualities are so apt to pass unnoticed and unvalued ; 
here where the whole future of happiness and charac- 



496 BE A 7 EN PA THS. 

ter seems to be turning upon a fateful centre ; here, if 
anywhere, we need the counsel and sanction of the 
Highest. Let the marriage vow be a vow to God as 
well as to man ! Let the marriage covenant be pre- 
faced with a prayer and sealed with a benediction ! 
And let the two who from the marriage altar go forth 
to face the world together, do so with the assurance 
that there is One above, whose blessing vouchsafed in 
poverty, sickness, temptation and tribulation, is able to 
make the roughest path seem smooth and to fringe 
the darkest cloud with light. 



XXII. 
HOME, SWEET HOME. 



" The house of every one is to him as his castle and fortress, as well 
for his defence against injury and violence, as for his repose." 

— Sir Edward Coke. 

' ' As unto the bow the cord is, 
So unto the man is woman : 
Though she bends him, she obeys him ; 
Though she draws him, yet she follows ; 
Useless each without the other." 

— Longfellow. 

" To Adam, Paradise was home; to the good among his descendants, 
home is paradise." 

—Julius Hare. 

ESUS of Nazareth is the Prob- 
lem of History. There is noth- 
ing in His environment that can 
be made to account for Himself. 
He realizes the ideal life and 
character under the most unfa- 
vorable conditions. Born of a 
peasant, He carries Himself with kingly dignity, and 
stands unabashed in the presence of the great. Reared 
in the narrow, provincial life of Galilee, His sympathies 
are cosmopolitan in their scope, and His teaching is 
adapted to all lands and times. Secluded from the 




5 OO BE A TEN PA THS. 

influences of classic culture, and trained to labor as a 
carpenter, His words touch deeper depths than were 
ever sounded by pagan philosopher, and the peerless 
beauty of His utterances becomes the inspiration and 
delight of all who ponder them. A homeless wanderer 
without where to lay His head, His heart overflows with 
domestic sympathies, and His life is rich in those social 
virtues that mature only under the genial influences of 
home. 

Not thus can any of us develop in social or moral 
power. We are like plants that have their peculiar 
habitat, and droop and die when transplanted to an 
unfamiliar clime. The tenderest heart grows calloused 
when compelled to endure without cessation the indiffer- 
ence and suspicion of the world. Amidst strangers, 
the lips are sealed, thought lies dormant, love grows 
cold, and moral vigilance is relaxed. Away from home, 
temptation engulfs the unsuspecting youth in its giddy 
whirl, and even the prominent official of the church 
throws prudence and conscience to the winds. 

Home is that stationary trellis by which the soul 
climbs upward toward the warm and quickening sun. 
Home supplies a motive force that rouses the ambition 
and stirs the activities of men as nothing else can 
move them to-day. Home is that imperial power 
whose touch brings knighthood to our human nature, 
and whose smile is counted more than recompense for 
the risk, the struggle, and the strain of our battle with 
the world. Home is that angel of light whose gracious 
suggestion quickens the heart of the pilgrim into song 
and moves the prodigal to tears. For the erection, 



HOME, SWEET HOME. 50 1 

the embellishment, and the maintenance of the home, 
the million wheels of industry revolve in their un- 
wearying round. For home the ships go speeding 
across the seas, the mine pours out its riches, and the 
loom weaves its fabrics. For home there are songs 
and sighings, battles and tears, labor and thought. 

Blest be that day when from the shelter of a home 
outgrown, they whom Heaven has united in the sacred 
bonds of love go forth to establish a home of their 
own. Let smiles greet them on every side! Let 
flowers by stainless hands be scattered in their path- 
way ! For them let the happy bells ring out, and 
music sound its sweetest strain ! For them may many 
a prayer wing its way to Heaven, and many an answer- 
ing benediction descend ! They that establish a home 
in purity and love are the greatest benefactors of their 
times. Rich beyond all riches of silver and gold is the 
community that is rich in Christian homes; and mighty 
with a power stronger than that of the sword, is the 
nation in which such homes abound. 

Though the house is not the home, it is nevertheless 
essential to it. There cannot be a household without 
a house. Where shall we locate this house of ours, 
and after what pattern shall we build it ? To an ex- 
tent we must be creatures of circumstance ; but let us, 
as far as possible, be also children of freedom, choos- 
ing wisely and well. The house is for the household, 
not the household for the house ; and the welfare of 
the household is the great point to be considered. 
Down in the valley, where the mists hang thick in the 
morning and the odors of decaying vegetation walk 



502 BE A TEN PA THS. 

abroad in the darkness, building lots are cheap ; but 
let him who makes his home there be prepared for 
the bills of the physician, and let him not turn religion 
into a farce by praying Heaven for health, while he 
wilfully makes his abode in the lurking-place of the 
pestilence. Where the prairie stretches drearily away 
to the northward, with not a house or tree to break 
the monotony, land costs little; but he who would 
build in that desert spot must remember that where 
nature with gaunt and forbidding face looks in at 
every window, the heart is bound to sicken and the 
spirits to flag. 

The intellectual and moral surroundings are even 
more important than the natural. Where the stream 
of intelligence and morality runs shallow, land is dear 
at any price. To some dubious Lot, the plain of the 
Jordan, green as an emerald, may seem like a fertile 
field of Paradise ; but he that lives in Sodom rears 
children for Hell ! Physical and moral healthfulness 
and beauty form the only appropriate setting for the 
Christian home. 

No house can ever be too comfortable or too beau- 
tiful for immortal spirits to dwell in. But there are 
houses that are almost too ugly and inconvenient for 
swine. The bleak and bare outlines of the old-style 
human barn are enough to turn a sensitive architect 
into a raving maniac. The savage thinks but little of 
his abode ; but we who claim to be civilized may well 
lavish thought and labor upon these homes of ours. 
Give us a dwelling that, in outline, color, and surround- 
ings, might make a picture ; and the house will have 



HOME, SWEET HOME. 50.3 

a most blessed effect upon the spirits of its inmates ! 
When God crave directions for the tabernacle and the 
temple, He consulted those principles of beauty which 
He had implanted in the human soul. Let us act like- 
wise in our building enterprises. Let comfort, cheer, 
and beauty be the ruling ideas of this home of ours 
both without and within. Let us see what art can do 
to soften the asperities and spiritualize the earthliness 
of everyday living. Let walls, ceilings, floors, grates, 
windows, all combine to uplift and enrich our lives. 
Here shall be rooms for reading, for music, for enter- 
taining, as well as for eating and sleeping. Here let 
every convenience be assembled that shall take away 
the drudgery from life, and give the spirit opportu- 
nity for the development of its nobler powers. 

Oh, the joy, the delight, the rapture of planning, 
building, decorating, furnishing and moving into a 
house of our own ! It corresponds to the feeling of 
him who, after having been compelled all his life long 
to wear the cast off garments of others, becomes pos- 
sessed at last of a suit made expressly for himself. 
There is a sense of dignity, of responsibility, and of 
independence, which nothing can communicate save 
the out-and-out possession of a fragment of this earth's 
surface including all beneath it four thousand miles 
away to the centre. The influence of the house on 
self-respect, on citizenship, on morality and religion, 
must not be underrated. Pope at Twickenham, Charles 
Dickens at Gad's Hill, Scott at Abbotsford — the men 
and the houses go down to history together. 

But the labor of keeping such a house in order is 



504 BE A TEJV PA THS. 

no light consideration. If it is the part of the hjs- 
band to furnish the house, surely it is the part of the 
wife to turn that house into a home through skill 
and labor. Home-making is woman's particular 
sphere and mission, and without her the home is not 
possible. The moment you enter a home, you can 
tell by numerous undefinable things, by deft little fem- 
inine arrangements, that a lady has been there. A 
bachelor's hall can never be a home. 

Three types of women there are with whom home- 
making is impossible — the one that will not work, the 
one that would work but does not know how, and the 
one that will not do anything else than work. Pity 
the man who has married himself to a doll, a dowdy, 
or a drudge ! Think of what it must be to be fenced 
in for life with some waxen creature, who can do noth- 
ing but look helplessly at you — and other men — with 
eyes of heavenly blue, while some coarse-voiced domes- 
tic superintends the affairs of your little kingdom, 
and does her best to ruin your digestion and your 
temper. Think of what it must be to come home at 
evening from your toil to one who meets you always 
with a loving heart and a dirty face ! But O what 
must it be to be linked for life to one who makes her 
house her idol, and to whom a speck of dust upon the 
window or a thread upon the carpet is more shocking 
than profanity ! Too much housekeeping is as bad as 
too little. There is a golden mean which should not 
be so hard to reach — a compromise, as it were, between 
filthiness and faultlessness — which, while attending to 
the needs of the lower man, refuses to give them su- 



HOME, S WEE T HOME. 5 05 

preme consideration. Thank Heaven that those " good 
old times" are past and gone, when the women of the 
household were compelled to drudge from dawn till 
dark, with not a single moment for ministering to the 
needs of the intellect and the higher nature generally. 
We now feel that the piano and the library are as 
essential to the making of a home, as the cook-stove 
and sewing-machine. 

If it is the duty of the husband to provide the 
house and the means of maintaining it, and if it is the 
duty of the wife to keep that house and its machinery 
in working order, duty surely does not stop with these 
things. Home-building is higher than house-building, 
and home-keeping than house-keeping. What young 
woman could be happy in the society of a man with 
no higher conceptions of home duties than simply to 
carry in fuel and put up stove-pipes after business- 
hours ? And was there ever a swain with no higher 
ideal of wifehood than the ability to stew and scrub 
and sew on buttons? Home is something more than 
a place for feeding and sleeping. Home is the place 
in which culture should bring to us its most generous 
stimulus, and in which the social powers should receive 
development and training. Home is the place for read- 
ing, music, art, religion, the meeting of friends, recrea- 
tion and discussion. And I take it to be the duty of 
husband and wife to work together for the establish- 
ment of a home that shall be rich in these higher min- 
istries and graces. 

Returning again to the consideration of the several 
elements that go into the making of a home, let me 



5 o6 BE A TEN PA THS. 



ask, What is home without a head ? That there must 
be a head of some sort, is generally conceded ; but 
in deciding the question as to who shall be head, some 
little misunderstandings are apt to arise. "You are 
now one," said the clergyman, after pronouncing the 
benediction upon the wedded couple. "Which one?" 
archly enquired the bride. "Ah," replied the minister, 
"you will have to settle that between yourselves." It 
is hardly safe for friend, minister, or mother-in-law to 
lay down any fixed and rigid rule upon this subject- 
Where a strong, sensible, and energetic lady submits 
to be led to the altar by " the sweetest little man in 
the world," she is very apt to reverse the order, and 
lead him after the knot has been tied. " I tell you," 
said one married man to another, " I know how to 
manage my wife." " Why don't you do it then ? " en- 
quired the other. " Why ? Because she won't let me," 
replied number one. And that is where the difficulty 
presents itself in some families. A man was once 
boasting to some friends, whom he was entertaining in 
the absence of his wife, that in his own home he spoke 
only to be obeyed. " I am master in my house," he 
declared. " I do not believe in woman's ruling. When 
I speak, gentlemen, my wife knows that she has to 
submit — I'm a regular Julius Caesar, I am ! " Just then 
the wife entered the room and remarked, " Gentlemen, 
is it not time for you to go home ? And Julius Caesar 
here will walk right upstairs with me." Which Julius 
Caesar immediately did. There was a head to that 
family. 

But you have probably come across homes in which 



HOME, SWEET HOME. 507 

this condition of things is reversed, and in which the 
wife is simply the husband's looking-glass, living only 
that she may reflect his opinions entire and undis- 
torted to the world. To my mind it is just as repul- 
sive to behold a woman all the time playing second 
fiddle to some aggressive and domineering man, as to 
see the weaker minded man guided and controlled by 
a valiant-spirited spouse. The one picture is pathetic; 
the other is ridiculous. When the lion and the lamb 
ally themselves, the lamb is apt to become absorbed 
by the lion ; and this principle holds good, even when 
the case is that of a male lamb and a female lion. 
But the ideal union is not that in which the lion and 
the lamb are found together — not that in which one of 
the heads is a " mutton-head " — but that in which two 
lions, equally matched, give direction to the affairs of 
their blended lives. Two heads are better than one 
in matrimony as in everything else. 

But if one of the partners happens to be exceedingly 
"set" in his way — or her way — which is to yield? I 
answer, Both. A successful married life must be a 
series of concessions and compromises. 'That is the 
only way in which two equal partners in business could 
get along together ; and it is the only way in which a 
divergence of opinion ought to be settled by the part- 
ners in the matrimonial compact. Where two people 
are more anxious to do right than simply to get their 
own way in the world, a compromise is always possi- 
ble. Mr. Gladstone defines his domestic policy thus : 
" Whenever my wife insists I submit; whenever I in- 
sist she submits. We never discuss family affairs at 

30 



508 BE A TEN PA THS. 

the table, and if anything unpleasant occurs during the 
evening we never refer to it till next day." 

There are strong wills, bad tempers, faults and fail- 
ings of husband and wife, to which concessions must 
be made ; but if the foundation of the home life has 
been laid in a love that is pure and strong and ardent, 
it should never be an impossibility to establish a worthy 
structure upon it. Love turns sinners into saints. 
Love covereth a multitude of sins. " Love suffereth 
long and is kind ; love envieth not ; love vaunteth not 
itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, 
seeketh not its own, is not provoked, taketh not ac- 
count of evil." Love is the mightiest factor in the 
shaping of human lives, and all things are possible to 
those that love one another. Love is the great har- 
monizer ; there cannot be any serious incompatibility 
where there is love. 

The greatest problem for husband and wife to con- 
sider is how to preserve that love by which they were 
originally drawn together. Dean Swift says, " The 
reason why so few marriages are happy is because 
young women spend their time in making nets, not in 
making cages." Ah, young ladies, is it not enough 
for you to simply catch your bird ; you must try to 
keep him where he will live and sing. Love is like 
electricity : if you want the constant current you must 
keep up the developing process. Those arts and 
graces of person, dress, speech, and manner, by which 
love was originally won, must never be abandoned. 
He that falls in love with a beautiful, sweet-voiced, and 
attractive maiden, will find his love growing cold 



HOME, S WEE T HOME. 5 09 

should she degenerate into a slatternly and shrewish 
wife. 

What woman's love can do in the way of stimulat- 
ing man to his utmost and noblest effort, is abundantly 
manifest. Those who have owed most to their wives, 
have not always been ready to acknowledge their in- 
debtedness ; but there are enough of such confessions 
to give us some idea of the facts. Martin Luther, 
speaking of his wife, declared, " I would not exchange 
my poverty with her for all the riches of Croesus with- 
out her." Napoleon found in his latter days that the 
great mistake of his life had been in forsaking the 
amiable and accomplished Josephine, to whose patience, 
courage, and unerring tact he was indebted for so 
much of his success. His subsequent career was little 
more than a succession of failures. 

History affords some beautiful pictures of the aid 
that women have rendered their husbands in their un- 
dertakings. There was Lady Napier who waded 
through volume after volume of dry portfolios and 
manuscripts, deciphering, translating, and condensing, 
for the benefit of her husband who was engaged in 
writing his famous History of the Peninsular War. 
There was Lady Hamilton who, after her husband had 
been elected to the professorship of logic and meta- 
physics in the University of Edinburgh, was accus- 
tomed to sit up with him night after night, writing out 
a passable copy of the lecture that he should deliver 
on the morrow, from the rough notes that Sir William, 
working in an adjoining room, would from time to 
time furnish her. There was Mrs. Fawcett, wife of 



5 I O BE A TEN PA THS. 

England's blind Postmaster General, through whose 
devoted eyes her husband read his way to distinction. 
There was Mrs. Livingstone, courageous helpmeet of 
a courageous husband, who shrank not from accom- 
panying him in his journeys through the wilderness, 
and whose bones now lying in a deserted spot of the 
Dark Continent, while those of the man that she 
helped to make repose in state at Westminster, point 
reproach upon a public that is still so hampered by 
conventional prejudice as to rule genius and devotion 
out of the Pantheon simply because they are found in 
the person of a woman. 

By that faithful companion of Pliny, who, when her 
husband was making one of his greatest speeches, kept 
her messengers on the run to and from the place of 
his oratory, that she might keep constantly informed 
of the impression her loved one was making ; by 
the wife of Mahomet, whose faith in him while others 
doubted, spurred him onward to the attainment of un- 
dying fame and influence ; by the wife of Carlyle who 
sacrificed herself upon the altar of her huband's indi- 
gestion ; by the wife of Bismarck who, he confesses, 
was " the making of him "; by the wife of Disraeli, who 
bore with a smile the agony of a crushed finger, rather 
than distract her husband on the eve of one of his 
great public speeches ; by that accomplished Lady Stan- 
ley, who went from the Queen's palace to the Deanery 
of Westminster, and whose great-souled husband con- 
fessed that in her death " the light of his life had gone 
out " — by such examples as these, which might be 
quoted by the thousand, the world takes note of the 



HOME, S WEE T HOME. 5 1 1 

fact that a wife may be a real helpmeet, and that he 
who is well married is on the highroad to success. 

But if the wife may do so much for him whose lot 
she shares, what may not he do to promote her wel- 
fare ? The Apostle Paul felt it needful to say some- 
thing to those of his own sex on this most vital theme ; 
and he gave to the world that text which the clergy 
have been so prone to ignore in their homilies : " Hus- 
bands, love your wives." This, therefore, is to be re- 
garded as a religious duty, sanctioned by one of those 
highest authorities whose words all Christendom has 
been taught to reverence. A husband's religion is to 
love his wife. Love marks the civilized as well as the 
Christian man. The Algonquin Indian has no name 
for love in all his vocabulary. The African savage 
does not hesitate to fell his wife to the ground with a 
club for any trifling act of disobedience. But Chris- 
tian civilization demands that womanhood shall be 
honored and cherished. 

Love will insist on revealing itself by something 
more practical than caresses. It instinctively follows 
the Golden Rule, and adopts and maintains toward 
the loved one those little courtesies which are so dear 
when practiced by the loved one toward ourselves. 
Love does not spend the evening in a corner with 
newspaper and cigars, compelling the wife to sit mute, 
inglorious, and unreconciled to her fate. Love never 
prompts a man to inform his companion how far her 
domestic science falls short of that of her esteemed 
mother-in-law, nor how beautiful and talented is the 
wife of somebody else. Love does not mope and lapse 



512 BEATEN PATHS. 

into the blues, and worry the life out of a poor woman 
with stories of financial ruin, simply because she has 
been rash enough to spend five dollars on a new bon- 
net. Love does not let the wife split kindling and 
light fires and walk the floor at midnight with a cry- 
ing child. Love listens to Xanthippe's pasquinades 
and calls them spicy, puts a wreath on the wrinkled 
brow and swears that it is beautiful, and chews away 
at sour bread and gutta-percha beefsteak, protesting 
that the meal is fit for a king. Love is as full of sun- 
light as the balmiest day in June, as plentiful of smiles 
as a woodland lake when the breath of the morning 
stirs it into a million ripples, as songful as the birds 
of Spring. Love sees, hears, feels a faultless world — 
angels in the empty spaces, melody in the pulseless 
air, flowers in the desert, and beauty, light, color, joy 
in everything. " Husbands, love your wives " — if not 
for their sakes, at least for your own. 

But there is another element in the making of the 
home that must on no account be passed over in si- 
lence. What is home without children? If through 
selfishness and neglect, these two whose lives have been 
joined together by holiest bonds and vows, have been 
finding it hard to maintain the common interest, there 
will be no more trouble after the Almighty puts into* 
their hands a little helpless babe to be nurtured and 
loved. If there has been any doubt heretofore as to- 
which one is the head of the house, there can be no 
further dispute after baby comes. He is the head, and 
everything must bend to his interest and caprice. He 
monopolizes attention, draws all eyes upon himself* 



HOME, SWEET HOME. 5 13 

becomes the all absorbing topic of conversation, turns 
night into day, and interrupts the conversation of the 
wise, the witty, and the great with his prodigious 
screams. King Baby is mightier than all the mon- 
archs of the earth. A great divine who happened to 
be preaching in a strange city, observed a mother in 
the congregation endeavoring to quiet her restless 
babe, while he was doing his best to rouse the people 
with his discourse. Finally the mother rose and be- 
gan to move toward the door. " Now, madam," said 
the preacher, " pray sit down ; the little one does not 
disturb me in the least, I assure you." " Mebbe not," 
retorted the mother, " but you're a-disturbin' of him ! " 
And what is the noblest eloquence in the world as 
compared with a baby's comfort ! 

Children are a nuisance ! If ever a body needs proof 
of the doctrine of original depravity, let him live in the 
same room for a while with a little child. From the 
day that the babe first opens his blinking eyes upon 
this planet till the day that he assumes the full estate 
of manhood, he never comes up to the standard that 
our poor human nature is all the time setting for him. 
His propensity toward evil displays itself on every 
possible occasion. If there happens to be a vestige of 
disease in the remotest part of the village, he is sure 
to catch it. And if there is any choice open to him 
between one sickness and a dozen, he decides unani- 
mously in favor of the dozen and accomodates them 
all on the spot. He shows his depraved ingenuity by 
always waking at midnight and sleeping when he is 
desired to wake. When we wish him to show off his 



5 1 4 BE A TEN PA THS. 

pretty ways, he becomes seized with indigestion ; and 
when our wealthiest neighbor condescends to smile 
upon him, he goes into hysterics. He mortifies us, 
robs us of our rest, plunders us of our wealth, breaks 
in upon our settled habits, pours milk, medicine, and 
contempt upon the cherished contents of our artistic 
home, torments us, wheedles us, despises us, rules us. 

If the baby is bad, the child is worse. Like bread 
and beef, he does not improve with age. We teach 
him to speak, and he straightway attacks us with ques- 
tions, till the peace of our lives seems clean gone for- 
ever. We teach him to walk, and he keeps us in a 
constant panic by running away from home. We 
teach him the use of his arms, and he makes a target 
of the conservatory, and trys the hardness of his fists 
on the countenance of his younger brother. We per- 
mit him to sit at the table with us, and he goes abroad 
publishing our family secrets to the neighborhood in 
a confidential shout. A lady who was reproving her 
hopeful son for certain of his misdemeanors was met 
by this retort : " At any rate, mamma, I think you 
ought to be real glad that I ain't twins." There is a 
bright side even to this darkest of subjects. Think of 
what it might be, if the distracting boy were twins ! 

Ah, friends, I need not tell you that the things I 
have been saying are so far away from the truth that 
you will not fail to take them as a jest. And yet you 
know that there are people in this world who repeat 
such arguments over and over as if they were unan- 
swerable, and who are foolish enough to decline the 
dignity and delights of parenthood, because of the 



HOME, S WEE T HOME. 5 1. 5 

cares that it entails. I cannot cry out, Shame upon 
this folly ; rather, if I would voice the deepest feeling 
of those hearts that the sacred responsibilities of 
fatherhood and motherhood have greatened, I would 
call for pity. Pity the poor creatures that are striving 
to make a home, with no childish prattle to fill it with 
heavenly music, and no childish laughter to conjure 
away its care. Pity the heart that never yearns to 
feel the tender life of a little child beating close against 
its own, and the arms that have no longing to shield 
that precious thing in their secure embrace. Pity for 
him who has nothing to do but plot and toil and 
struggle and die, and go out of the world at last leav- 
ing no breathing image of himself behind ; and pity 
for her who strives to satisfy the unconscious yearn- 
ings of a woman's heart by fondling a cat or a dog ! 
Oh, if ever the angels weep over the folly and blind- 
ness of men, it must be when they see these homes of 
ours, whose doors are always open to visitors from 
the outside world, but always closed to those little 
messengers that God would send from Heaven. A 
home without children is like a song without music, 
a painting without color, and a Paradise without joy. 
Never do we know how glorious self-sacrifice is until 
that little stranger from above obtrudes his presence 
upon us, forcing us out of our old lines of self-indul- 
gence and calling us to new and holy responsibilities. 
Never till we know how a human parent feels toward 
his child, can we understand how He feels toward us 
who has taught us to call Him, Our Father. 

And when the little soul that we have nurtured be- 



5 l6 BEATEN PATHS. 

gins to find its way out beyond this world of soil and 
cloud into the realm that eye hath not seen ; when the 
little spirit that has come from the land of mystery 
and silence begins to grasp the secret of that invisible 
Presence in whom " we live and move and have our 
being," no sight or sound of nature, no swelling organ 
tones, no pathos of poetry or power of eloquence can 
begin to exert that moral force upon us which is un- 
consciously put forth by our own child. I have stood by 
the shores of the ocean, watching the waters as they bil- 
lowed away league upon league till the nebulous horizon 
hid them from sight, while wave after wave came throb- 
bing in from the bosom of the deep, giving irresisti- 
ble suggestion of the pulsing of that mighty Life, that 
mysterious sea of being which beats forever upon these 
sands of time. I have seen sunsets so rich, so varied,, 
so glorious in their royal coloring, so throbbing with 
the seven-fold beauties of the light, that no pigments 
of the studio could ever put them upon the canvas — 
sunsets when it seemed as if the gates of pearl had 
swung wide, and the glories of the upper sanctuary 
were being poured down through cloudland upon 
earth. I have heard the wind stirring through the 
forest, as it were the rustle of a million wings, and 
the mighty roll of the thunder that is as the voice of 
God. But the most moving thing that these eyes have 
seen is the vision of a little child, in white robe, with 
clasped hands ; and the sweetest thing that these ears 
have ever heard is the sound of that little voice lisp- 
ing with solemn treble its first prayer to the invisible 
King : "Now I lay me down to sleep." 



HOME, S WEE T HOME. 51-7 

In the early days God sent prophets to tell His peo- 
ple of His nature and His purposes ; but now " a lit- 
tle child shall lead them ;" and that frail and tender 
messenger, coming from the upper courts, speaks of 
Divine grace, of purity, of angelic sweetness, of the 
things of Heaven, as no other being can ever speak of 
them to us. 

There are people — well meaning people, no doubt 
— who affect to despise the home, and who cannot suf- 
fer themselves to allude to domesticity without a sneer. 
God forbid that we should speak unkindly of them ; 
but God forbid that we should follow them in their 
mistake ! For the home is the most venerable and 
the most powerful institution that our civilization ex- 
hibits. It has given proof of its fitness by surviving 
amidst all the changes and conflicts of time. The 
holiness and happiness of the race are more depend- 
ent upon it than upon anything else here below. To 
those who feel that the confines of the home are too 
narrow to give scope to their ambitions, let me say, 
What other line of work in life is filled with such 
precious opportunity or is capable of engendering so 
many holy enthusiasms ? Is it more noble in man or 
woman to strive for wealth, for honor, for power, or 
for knowledge, than for the upbuilding of that holy 
institution round which are gathered our tenderest 
memories and our most cherished hopes? 

There are those who have made it the supreme aim 
of their lives to accumulate vast fortunes that should 
speak to coming generations of their industry, their 
enterprise, and their self-denial. There are those who 



5 I 8 BE A TEN PA THS. 

have made it their supreme ambition to write their 
names across vast continents through the blood of 
thousands slain. There are those who have striven to 
put their thought into marble, into color, into verse, 
hoping thereby to establish for themselves an immor- 
tal name and influence. But nobler and wiser than all 
are they who, through the homes established and main- 
tained by their affection, their wisdom, and their self- 
denying toil, have trained the children that bear their 
names to go forth into the world as living represen- 
tatives of all that is strongest and best within them- 
selves. Higher work than that to which God calls the 
fathers and mothers of the land is not to be found on 
earth or in heaven. To develop the tender spirit of 
a little child in righteousness and love, is an infinitely 
grander work than to develop the resources of mighty 
empires. 

They that write their names upon the map of the 
world, write them upon sand ; they that put their 
thought into marble, into granite, into bronze, put it 
into that which crumbles and corrodes ; they that 
think and toil, invent and discover, build for them- 
selves monuments that time at length defaces and 
buries ; but they that put their noblest thought, their 
ripest wisdom, their holiest enthusiasms into those lit- 
tle souls that the great Creator has entrusted to their 
care, find the work of their hands established upon 
them, and leave behind them monuments that, even 
when stars and planets fade, shall continue to shine 
as the sun forever in the kingdom of the Father. 

Home, Sweet Home ! What blessed memories do 



HOME, SWEET HOME. 5 19 

these words evoke within us ! Before the mind there 
floats a vision of life's morning-time, and we see again 
the old house, now deserted and falling into ruins, 
whose rooms echoed to the shout and laughter of our 
childhood's happy hours. Its gaunt outlines and 
weather-stained walls give to the casual eye no sug- 
gestion of loveliness ; but for us it has a beauty that 
cannot be expressed in words. A glory not of this 
world bathes with supernal splendor those eaves 
where now the unmolested swallow rears her young ; 
and from the doorway overspun with spider's film,, 
there floats a light more radiant than the sun. The 
wierd echoes that fill the deserted rooms are like foot- 
falls from the boundaries of another world. For us 
the light of long extinguished fires glows again upon 
the hearthstone, and faces long forgotten look forth 
from every corner. For us the homely house grows 
beautiful, and the silence is filled with music ; and in 
the contemplation of the blessed scene, from over 
the measureless spaces that divide us from the gates 
of pearl, there comes to us again 

" the touch of a vanished hand, 
And the sound of a voice that is still." 

O thou blessed home of holiest memories ! Deso- 
late thou seemest, and cheerless, and inhospitable, to 
the stranger who pauses by the tottering gate, and 
notes only the broken panes and the tangled vine ; 
but to us, in thy spiritual suggestions thou art a 
vision of light, a palace, a poem, a picture of Heaven, 
a symbol of that home which lies afar in the regions 



5 20 BE A TEN PA THS. 

of the upper day, where parting and disruptions are 
unknown. 

And for the establishment and upbuilding of a home 
like this — a home rich in spiritual ministries, a home 
that shall exert a hallowing influence on the lives of 
all who go forth from its threshold into the strife and 
trial of the outer world, a home that shall abide for- 
ever in memory's most sacred resting place — for 
such a home one may well put forth every energy and 
endure any sacrifice. 




HARMONY. 



XXIII. 
THE SECRET OF A HAPPY LIFE. 

" To watch the corn grow and the blossoms set ; to draw hard breath 

over the ploughshare or spade ; to read, to think, to love, to pray, are 

the things that make men happy." 

— Ruskin. 

" Any man may be in good spirits and good temper when he is well 
dressed. There ain't much credit in that. If I was very ragged and 
very jolly, then I should begin to feel I had gained a point." 

— Dickens: Mark Tapley. 

" There are briers besetting every path, 

Which call for patient care ; 

There is a cross in every lot, 

And an earnest need for prayer ; 

But a lowly heart that leans on Thee 

Is happy anywhere. ' ' 

— Alice Cary. 

PICTETUS says, "If a man is 
unhappy, this must be his own 
fault, for God made all men to 
be happy." I do not see how 
any sane mind can question this 
statement. I fail to find the 
slightest ground for believing 
that God desires human beings to be miserable. Every 
soul that comes into this world has implanted in it a 
consuming desire for happiness, a longing so deep- 
seated in its constitution that no experience in life can 
possibly uproot it. To suppose that the Divine Being 




524 BE A TEN PA THS. 

gives such a longing without furnishing the means for 
its satisfaction, would be to ascribe to God the charac- 
ter of a demon who takes delight in putting hapless 
man through struggle, sacrifice, and pain, in the effort 
to find that which lies forever beyond his reach. Alas 
for the race, were it thus doomed to the torture of a 
quenchless thirst ! 

But the whole experience of life runs counter to 
such a supposition. Man that is brought into the 
world with this longing for happiness, finds the means 
for its gratification most lavishly provided. Through 
the flood-gates of the five senses ceaseless streams of 
pleasure sing their way to the enchanted soul; while 
through reason, conscience, and the religious nature, 
the joys of heaven come to supplement the satisfac- 
tions of earth. Never was king's table so laden with 
the means of satisfying the appetite as is this world 
with the means of ministering to our delight. The 
body hungers, and almost every living thing on the 
face of the earth can furnish food ; it thirsts, and from 
a million fountains bursts forth the cool and crystal 
stream. Man longs for knowledge, and every plant 
by the wayside, every gnat in the summer air, every 
star in the great vault of heaven becomes his teacher. 
Man seeks a vision of the beautiful, and the earth 
grows radiant, the forests wave, the floods clap their 
hands, and with royal splendor of purple and crimson 
and gold the clouds of the sky stand transfigured. 
As man strives to realize himself physically, intellec- 
tually, socially, and morally, he finds that the door of 
opportunity stands wide open, and that every power 



THE SECRET OF A HAPPY LIFE. 525 

of his constitution working in normal rhythm produces 
pleasure. 

By that ineradicable desire of happiness which the 
Divine Being has implanted in our hearts ; by that 
abundant provision which He has made for every 
want ; by the cross of His only begotten Son, who 
came "that we might have life, and that we might 
have it more abundantly," and by the mission of the 
Spirit whose work it is to bring forth love and peace 
and joy in human hearts — by all these I learn the un- 
mistakable purpose of God, that your life and mine 
might be filled with happiness. 

Now, if it is God's plan that we shall be happy, I 
hold that it is our plain duty to co-operate with the 
Divine Being in realizing that plan. Where we know 
that God wishes us to be happy, piety demands that 
we shall do our very best to carry out His intentions. 
Yet who ever thinks of happiness as a duty ? Who 
ever supposes that '-'the blues" are as much of an 
offence to God as they are to men? Who speaks and 
acts as if his happiness depended on himself? When 
men want houses they are willing to take the raw ma- 
terial from God, work it up into bricks and mortar, 
and build these into the desired shape. When they 
want harvests they stand prepared to till the soil and 
sow the seed and give it the necessary amount of cul- 
tivation. But when they desire happiness, they are 
apt to go on the supposition that God must furnish 
the raw material and do all the work besides. 

I would have you realize that happiness is just like 
harvests, houses, wealth, or anything else that we de- 

31 



526 BE A TEN PA THS. 

sire and toil for : we can have it if we will work for it. 
God having done His part, everything further depends 
upon us. If we are able to make other people happy, 
we are surely able to make ourselves happy. Who- 
soever will may enter this kingdom of joy. But who- 
soever will not, whosoever chooses to neglect his 
opportunities, must be prepared for the consequences. 
A free agent must always be free to make himself 
miserable. Where men can be happy and will not be 
happy, the fault lies in the men rather than in the cir- 
cumstances by which they are surrounded, or in the 
Deity by whom those circumstances are controlled. 

What, then, is the secret of happiness ? Let me 
state it in a single word : Adjustment. This gives 
the law by which the coveted boon may always be 
obtained. Just as the watch whose wheels are prop- 
erly adjusted goes on its merry ticking night and day ; 
just as the great engine whose parts are properly ad- 
justed moves in its work with smooth, majestic motion, 
so the man who is properly adjusted to God's great 
world goes on his course serene and satisfied. This 
law has various applications. 

I. Adjustment with nature, or Health. The world of 
nature is God's world ; the laws of health are God's 
laws ; the piety of the flesh is good health. Sound 
lungs, strong heart, vigorous digestion, bright eyes 
rosy cheeks, hard muscles, make up the physical saint. 
There are all kinds and degrees of health: fair health, 
indifferent health, poor health, bad health, no health 
at all ; or on the other hand, fair health, good health, 
splendid health, brimming, bubbling, overflowing, laugh- 



THE SECRET OF A HAPPY LIFE. 527 

ing, dancing, glorious health. Who cares for the cold 
when he has a furnace within going at full blast ? Who 
cares for mud and wind, drizzling rain and sleety 
snow, when panoplied with health? Who cares for the 
world when joy goes a-thumping from the heart into 
every part of the physical frame ? I preach the gos- 
pel of good health. I shall have a higher gospel than 
this to proclaim before I am through; but for the present 
let me impress this truth, that not all the gold of Califor- 
nia nor all the honors of this Republic can express the 
market value of your good health. Part with health, and 
you will feel the loss from sole to crown. Part with 
health, and the lusciousness of the peach will nauseate 
you, the glory of the sun will pain the eyes, and the 
sweet laughter of a child will make your nerves quiver 
with distress. Parting with health involves weakness, 
irritability, morbidness, suspicion. Ill health racks its 
victims with pain, and if it sings at all, sings only this 
song: 

" Lord, what a wretched world is this, 
To sorrowing mortals given ! ' ' 

When a man begins to " praise God " with that sort 
of music, it is time for him to die. In nature's wise 
economy, feebleness and disease come properly and 
inevitably only when the threescore years and ten are 
up, and one needs to be weaned from earth and pre- 
pared to bid it a last good-bye. 

At all cost of dollars and cents, at all cost of grat- 
ification and amusement, at all cost of fame and 
power, keep your health. Of temporal blessings it is 



528 BE A TEN PA THS. 

certainly the greatest. Away with everything that 
opposes your reaching that very climax of health 
which makes living itself a luxury. Hence, loathed 
melancholy! Hence, care and confinement! Hence, 
late hours and unnatural excitements ! Now for open 
air and sunny skies ! Now for long walks and good 
company ! Now for 

" Sport that wrinkled care derides, 
And laughter holding both his sides." 

Now for the exercise, the romp, the play, the laugh 
that bring us into adjustment with scurrying winds 
and restless sea, with singing stream and smiling sky ! 
Now for Health ! 

O these perverse wills of ours ! Lord Chesterfield 
wrote to his son, " Since I have had full use of my 
reason, nobody has ever heard me laugh." Poor man ! 
He thought it very ungentlemanly to laugh ; it pro- 
duced such a shocking distortion of the face. There 
are others who would make laughter an outlaw on 
religious grounds. Away with such namby-pamby- 
ism ! Let laughter peal out from every merry heart ! 
The religion that glories in asceticism is false. The 
Son of Man came eating and drinking. God does not 
want men to hang on hooks in mid-air, nor to make 
long journeys on hands and knees, nor to live like 
hermits, nor to go about this world as if their mortal 
bodies were filled with vinegar. God wants men to 
be happy through the adjustment of perfect health. 
The twinges, the pains, the aches, the weariness that, 
you feel, are all gentle reminders from Him that you 
are violating His laws. 



THE SECRET OF A HAPPY LIFE. 529 

But I have another gospel than that of health to 
proclaim to you. If we were purely physical beings, 
gcod health would mean everything ; but because we 
are complex beings, part physical and part spiritual, 
we may triumph over the world and preserve our 
cheerfulness while all the bodily powers are falling 
into ruin. So Sydney Smith never loses his humor, 
but writes to a friend, " I have gout, asthma, and 
seven other maladies, but am otherwise very well." 
And Robert Hall, even in the insanity induced by in- 
tense bodily pain, preserves his wit. " What brought 
you here, Mr. Hall ? " inquired a stupid visitor at the 
asylum. " What will never bring you here," quickly 
retorted the great divine, significantly tapping his 
head; "too much brain, sir; too much brain!" 
Paul, the Apostle, goes on rejoicing, notwithstanding 
that his thorn in the flesh is not removed ; and a 
greater than Paul, as if in very mockery of the world, 
cries as he goes to the cross, "My joy I leave with 
you." O blessed joy of the triumphant Christ ! Joy 
before which the pleasures of the senses fade into 
nothingness as the stars die out at the rising of the 
sun ! Joy that becomes the precious compensation of 
those who make sacrifice of health and strength and 
life itself upon the cross of duty ! Other things be- 
ing equal, the healthiest being is the happiest ; but it 
is well to know that there are higher adjustments 
than that with the physical universe, and that those 
who forsake the lower for these higher are never with- 
out their reward. 

II. Adjustment with circumstances, or Contentment. 



53o 



BE A TEN PA THS. 



When the world within and the world without conform 
to one another, when desire and possession meet, there 
is happiness. No man can be utterly indifferent to 
the circumstances that surround him. Is not it easier 
for us to be happy in a crisp and bracing atmosphere 
than when the air is humid and sweltering? Who 
would not rather live in a palace than in a hovel ? 
Who says there is no pleasure to be derived from 
books and pictures, tapestries and marbles? 

" Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay." 

Thomas Arnold was made wretched by the monotonous 
scenery of Warwickshire, and fled to the lake country 
for refuge. Faraday could not bear the trade of 
bookbinding, and jumped at the chance of washing 
bottles for Sir Humphry. Davy. The men who say 
that circumstances do not count in the making up of 
life's happiness talk nonsense. Circumstances always 
count. If your house is unsightly, dismal, squalid, can 
this fail to affect your feelings ? If one's wife is a 
slattern or a shrew, is not he sure to feel it ? If one 
is bound down to an odious business, will not that im- 
pair his happiness ? Or if the society of your village 
is ignorant, semi-barbarous, uncouth, surely you will 
suffer. A man cannot turn himself into a stone ; he 
cannot be utterly indifferent to these things. 

We are all children of circumstance, dancing like 
motes in the sunbeam or weeping when the skies are 
grey. Wanted ! Something that will bring the human 
heart into adjustment with the circumstances of its 
environment. Found ! One sure cure for discontent — 



THE SECRET OF A HAPPY LIFE. 53 I 

honest, industrious work. Give a man something to 
do, and it will not be long before he forgets himself 
and begins to whistle or to sing. Work develops the 
consciousness of power. Work makes a man feel 
that he is able to overcome the world and mould it to 
his own desires. Work makes man the master of cir- 
cumstances ; idleness leaves him their prey. Martin 
Luther declares that he is never happier than when 
writing against the Pope. Work to the sorrowing 
heart is like medicine to the sick. 

But the sick man is not to be cured by drugs alone 
without the power of nature. Better than all your 
pills and potions is nature's own remedial force. For 
the man whose circumstances are not congenial, nature 
works a miracle : the lot is not adjusted to the man, 
but the man becomes adjusted to his lot. The square 
man in the round hole will grow round by and by, and 
will cease to recognize the pinch. Time dulls the edge 
of grief. Familiarity with pain breeds contempt for 
it. Byron's Prisoner of Chillon is true to the facts of 
common experience when he says, 

11 My very chains and I grew friends, 
So much a long communion tends 
To make us what we are : even I 
Regain 'd my freedom with a sigh." 

Blessed be nature, our great foster-mother, who pil- 
lows every troubled child upon her breast, and heals 
the wounds and bruises of both body and spirit. 

Work and nature help many a one over the hard 
places in life ; but they can do but little without the 



532 BE A TEN PA THS. 

co-operation of the will. And what a marvellous 
power resides in simple resolution ! Face your trouble 
manfully, and away it goes as chaff before the wind. 
But nurse it — and does not everything grow by nurs- 
ing ? 

" There's many a trouble 

Would break like a bubble, 

And into the waters of Lethe depart, 

Did we not rehearse it, 

And tenderly nurse it, 

And give it a permanent place in the heart." 

If you resolve to be happy against all odds, you will 
find few things strong enough to withstand you. When 
the will begins to assert itself, the night of trouble 
breaks and men behold the glimmers of returning day. 
As there is no night without some light in it, so there 
is no lot in life without some agreeable feature upon 
which the attention may be concentrated. If behind 
the rear fence of your garden your neighbor has con- 
structed a pigsty, why should you spend the best hours 
of the morning sniffing the tainted air and scowling at 
the swine? Seek a pleasanter outlook, and endeavor 
to be happy. If some offence has met you, why 
should you let it rankle in your heart, why should you 
brood over it, and fret and complain about it till you 
become a chronic grumbler? Think of something 
else. 

Live where circumstances put on their pleasantest 
aspect. Study your own joy and minister to it. Let 
no blessing go unimproved. Why does the Divine 
Being bestow upon you so many mercies if He does 



THE SECRET OF A HAPPY LIFE. 5.33 

not wish you to enjoy them ? Keep your eyes open 
to all that is good. Follow the Psalmist in singing, 

" Bless the Lord, O my soul, 
And forget not all his benefits." 

Count them over one by one. Do not wait till you 
have become wealthy or famous or learned before be- 
ing happy. Be happy now. If you cannot be happy 
with what you have already, a few more dollars or 
honors will not make you so. Enjoy life as you are 
going through it, if you wish to enjoy it at all. Let no 
day pass without giving you some occasion for thanks- 
giving. Once form the habit of appreciating all good 
things, and then the more you have of them the mer- 
rier you will be. But if you fall into the habit of 
ignoring life's blessings, not riches, honor, or power 
will be able to move you to thanksgiving. The gal- 
lant Lovelace had something worth more than all the 
wealth of Crcesus, when, like a bird in its cage, he sang 
from his prison cell, 

" Stone walls do not a prison make, 
Nor iron bars a cage ; 
Minds innocent and quiet, take 
That for an hermitage." 

Jeremy Taylor discourses a wisdom more precious 
than rubies when he writes : " I have fallen into the 
hands of thieves ; what then ? They have left me the 
sun and moon, fire and water, a loving wife and many 
friends to pity me, and I can still discourse ; and, un- 
less I list, they have not taken away my merry coun- 



534 BEA TEN PA THS - 

tenance and my cheerful spirit and a good conscience. 
And he that hath so many causes of joy, and so great, 
is very much in love with sorrow and peevishness who 
loses all these pleasures, and chooses to sit down on 
his little handful of thorns." 

Look steadily on the bright side of things, and con- 
tentment will come of itself unconsciously and bless- 
edly. But where men say, " Go to, let us be content ! " 
they are very apt to school themselves into a kind of 
base satisfaction with their surroundings, such as de- 
stroys ambition and saps away the springs of every 
noble effort. There is a noble species of discontent 
— of dissatisfaction, rather — which lies at the root of 
all progress. Where your circumstances are uncon- 
genial, your first duty is to work upon them until they 
have been brought as far as possible into conformity 
with the ideal. But all the same, if you confine your 
attention exclusively to these unpleasant features, if 
you chafe and fret over them so as to permit them to 
steal away your joy from you, you act weakly and 
unwisely. If you are a hod-carrier earning only a dol- 
lar a day, it is imperative upon you to do all in your 
power to better your condition. But at the same time, 
it is equally imperative upon you to keep your eyes 
open to the bright side of your lot, and to let no 
blessing pass unimproved. We should take our cue 
from that quaint old divine who, on sitting down to a 
wretched meal of salt herrings and potatoes, said 
grace in this way : "Lord, we thank Thee that Thou 
hast compassed sea and land to find food for us this 
day." Alphonse Karr says, " Some people are always 



THE SECRET OF A HAPPY LIFE. 5.35 

finding fault with nature for putting thorns on roses : 
I always thank her for putting roses on thorns." 

" Some muraur when their sky is clear 
And wholly bright to view, 
If one small speck of dark appear 
In their great heaven of blue. 
And some with thankful love are filled, 
If but one streak of light, 
One ray of God's good mercy gild 
The darkness of their night." 

I said man was the child of circumstances, but he is 
also the child of God. His soul is made to fly up- 
ward, and like the lark sings its sweetest song in mid- 
heaven. When the clouds gather over life, you may 
rise into the sun-swept spaces above. Circumstances 
have no power to prevent this. He that will, may 
always partake of those higher joys that befit an im- 
mortal spirit. 

III. Adjustment with men, or Love. The only way 
to get happiness from men is to love them. To the 
unloving eye the world will always seem unlovely. 
Whenever the uncharitable man delivers himself, he 
reveals the fact that he is acutely sensitive to the 
blemishes and defects of others. His most intimate 
companion is a disappointment to him. His nearest 
neighbor is intolerable, and that neighbor's children 
are very imps ! He despises the dress, the appoint- 
ments, the ideas, of the people by whom he is sur- 
rounded. To him their motives seem always sinister, 
their ambitions mean, and their actions commonplace. 
His lofty spirit is galled and lacerated beyond meas- 



5 30 BE A TEN PA THS. 

lire at being compelled to associate with such deform- 
ity. " Faults are thick where love is thin." 

What such a man needs is love. Love covers a 
multitude of sins. Love magnifies the virtues of others 
and minimizes their vices. Your neighbor's opinion 
of his child is very different from your own, because 
he looks at the little one through loving eyes. "Every 
crow thinks its own chick white." The mother folds 
to her breast a wretched little atom of humanity, and 
for its sake counts all sacrifice joy. She would go 
through fire and water for it without hesitation. She 
will rise from her slumbers a dozen times a night to 
attend to its wants, and never murmur. Her secret is 
love. Love is mightier than magic in transforming 
the world. Get love into that soul which looks out 
through the eyes, and you will be amazed to discover 
how winsome everybody becomes. To love others is 
to see them always on their brightest side, which is 
like basking in sunshine. 

Love seeks to give rather than to get, and hence 
has little difficulty in executing its purposes. If you 
are always standing on the tip-toe of expectancy, wait- 
ing to see the crowd bow down before you in acknowl- 
edgment of your greatness, the first rough fellow that 
jostles against you will send you sprawling. If you 
are waiting for the world to make great ado over you, 
you will probably wait a long time, and grow sour 
with disappointment at last. But if out of the depths 
of a loving heart you are seeking to confer benefit 
upon the world, you will have abundant opportunity 
to do as you desire. 



THE SECRET OF A HAPPY LIFE. 537 

Ah, how easy it is to go through life finding fault 
with everybody because they do not minister to us, 
but finding 1 no fault with ourselves because we do not 
minister to the'm ! Let the tables be turned. " As ye 
would that others should do to you, do ye even so to 
them." The golden rule is as precious for its wisdom 
as for its justice. When Lady Holland asked the 
poet Rogers what she should do to make life tolera- 
ble, he caustically suggested, " Try to do a little good." 
The advice could not have been better. If you wish- 
to be happy in life, try to make sunshine for somebody 
else. Get your heart so full of love for those who 
struggle and are in need, as to do something for them, 
and it will make you feel like a prince. With a full 
reservoir away in the bosom of the hills, the little 
stream sings its way down the slopes all summer 
through ; and when the fountain of the heart is full, 
the stream of life makes ceaseless music. Love in 
the home, the school, the shop, the world, would turn 
this earth into a Paradise. 

IV. Adjustment with God, the result of which is 
Peace. No man can stand in perfect harmony with the 
universe, unless he is at one with that Divine Being 
who is the centre and the circumference of all that is. 
God Himself is the most intimate environment of the 
soul. The book that you hold in your hand, the 
breath of summer air that fans your face, the friend 
into whose eyes you are looking, are not half so near 
to you as is the invisible God. There is no escaping 
Him. You may live away from the old home of your 
childhood, and apart from the friends of your youth ; 



538 BE A TEN PA THS. 

you may travel beyond the bounds of your native land, 
or even beyond the bounds of civilization itself; but 
you cannot get where God is not. Where you go, He 
is. Every moment of your existence the Divine 
Spirit is your nearest environment ; and to attempt 
living a happy and contented life without coming into 
harmony with this Spirit, is to attempt the impos- 
sible. 

Madame Recamier, surrounded with all the gaye- 
ties of the French capital, writes to her niece that she 
is " in the centre of fetes, princesses, illuminations, 
and spectacles," and then adds sadly, " I sit and muse 
on the shore of the ocean ; I go over all the sad and 
joyous circumstances of my life ; and I hope that you 
will be happier than I have been." Lord Chesterfield, 
that courtly and polished worldling, writes concerning 
the pleasures of life, " Those who have only seen their 
outsides always overrate them ; but I have been be- 
hind the scenes I look upon all that is past 

as one of those romantic dreams which opium com- 
monly occasions, and I do by no means desire to re- 
peat the nauseous dose." Study the career of the 
poet Byron, in the flame of whose dazzling genius 
many a soul has been scorched and blinded, and you 
seem to hear the voice of the Eternal crying through 
it all, "No peace, no peace to the wicked !" Titled, 
brilliant, scornful, admired and idolized, yet forever 
restless, rebellious, and dissatisfied; fleeing from place 
to place and from one dissipation to another, in the 
futile effort to shake from himself an incubus whose 
purport, apparently, he did not understand. I find the 



THE SECRET OF A HAPPY LIFE. 539 

great Goethe declaring that in his whole life he had 
not experienced five weeks of genuine happiness ; 
and I cannot refrain from asking, Was it for this 
paltry fragment of pleasure that the favor of mon- 
archs, the love of woman, and the applause of the 
world were lavished upon him ? Is this all that can 
be won by genius, culture, and fortune? Then alas 
for the common race of men to whom genius, culture, 
and fortune have been denied ! 

But there are experiences of a more hopeful char- 
acter that must be taken into account. There have 
been men with endowments and opportunities far be- 
neath those of Goethe, men frail in body and com- 
monplace in mind, men who have been placed in the 
most unpromising conditions, and yet have found 
their happiness increasing as the " tree planted by 
rivers of water." In poverty and peril, in affliction 
and bereavement, homeless, despised, forsaken, they 
have yet possessed a secret by means of which they 
have been enabled to "rejoice always and in every- 
thing to give thanks." And I cannot help feeling that 
the knowledge of this secret is worth more than all 
the wealth and culture of the world. To feel clear of 
all past mistakes and transgressions, to feel assured of 
a future whose experiences are too glorious to be im- 
agined, to know that nothing can occur in the present 
to impede our prosperity, but that all things must 
work together for our good — such an experience is 
surely the best that this present world can offer. Men 
try to get it by means of money or knowledge or 
power, but it is not thus to be secured. The melan- 



5 40 BE A TEN PA THS. 

choly confessions of Byron, Goethe, and Chesterfield 
only confirm what the author of Ecclesiastes estab- 
lished by the experimental method so many years 
before, that those who refuse to come into right 
adjustments with the Divine Being will be forced to 
cry over the grave of departed joys, " Vanity of van- 
ities, all is vanity." 

There is no peace possible to him who is out of 
harmony with God. His life must be as restless as 
the uneasy sea, with ambition, avarice, and passion 
always throwing it into turmoil. No strife of wind 
and current can compare with that war between the 
flesh and the spirit, between conscience and desire, 
between selfishness and love, to which every soul is 
exposed. From of old, man has been rebuking this 
tempestuous sea in vain. He knows that as a free 
agent he has power to withstand the storm ; but he 
knows also that if the storm is to subside, some 
power mightier than himself must cry, " Peace, be 
still ! " 

He who uttered those words nineteen centuries ago,, 
stilling the wind-swept flood of Galilee, has power to 
bring peace to-day to every storm-tried soul. Over 
the restless billows of our modern life walks the 
majestic figure of the Son of God. In our hearts, 
the uppermost feeling of the moment may be one of 
fear ; but it is He alone that can bring peace to us in 
the unrest, the guilt, the grief, the anxious foreboding 
of our lives. Peace through the teachings, the death, 
the resurrection, the spiritual presence of the Son of 
God ! Peace that comes not intermittently like sum- 



THE SECRET OF A HAPPY LIFE. 54 1 

mer freshets, but that with copious stream flows on 
forever — a majestic river that rises from beneath the 
eternal throne ! Peace, serene, priceless, eternal, such as 
the world can neither give nor take away ! Blessed 
and triumphant peace of the soul that is perfectly 
adjusted to Him who is higher than the highest 
heaven and nearer than the nearest thought ! 

Queen Elizabeth of England, ignorant of the re- 
quirements of art, is said to have asked that her por- 
trait might be painted without shadows. Ah, how many 
souls, ignorant of life's meaning and methods, ignor- 
ant of the requirements of that art which He follows 
who sits working behind the stars, would have the 
future pictured as without a shadow. I cannot do that 
for you. The shadows will come, whether we wish 
them or not. I can only assure you that in life, the 
light prevails over the darkness, that the opportuni- 
ties for happiness are most abundant, and that even 
the shadows themselves will make for beauty and 
eventually be turned into occasions of rejoicing. 

" The fountain of joy is fed with tears, 
And love is lit by the breath of sighs ; 
The deepest griefs and the wildest fears 
Have holiest ministries." 

The secret of a happy life is also the secret of a 
happy death. Adjustment with God brings adjust- 
ment with that future which awaits us all. " Are you 
not on the shady side of seventy ? " an old man was 
once asked. "No," he replied, "lam on the sunny 
side, the side nearest the glory ! " Here it is shadow- 

32 



542 BE A TEN PA 77/5. 



land ; there it is day. Here there are tears ; but there 
11 the Lamb of God will wipe away all tears from their 
eyes." 

" No shadows yonder ! 

All light and song : 
Each day I wonder, t 

And say, How long 
Shall time me sunder 

From that blest throng? " 

" No weeping yonder ! 

All fled away : 
While here I wander 

Each weary day, 
And sigh as I ponder 

My long, long stay. 

" No partings yonder! 

Time and space never 
Again shall sunder : 

Hearts cannot sever; 
Dearer and fonder 

Hands clasp forever." 



XXIV. 
CHARACTER. 



" We sleep, but the loom of life never stops ; and the pattern which 
was weaving when the sun went down is weaving when it comes up to- 
morrow." 

— Henry Ward Beecher. 

" With aching hands and bleeding feet 
We dig and heap, lay stone on stone ; 
We bear the burden and the heat 

Of the long day, and wish 'twere done. 
Not till the hours of light return 
All we have built do we discern." 

— Matthew Arnold. 

N this chapter we are to deal 
with something which amid the 
hurry and distractions of life is 
very apt to be overlooked, 
namely, the character that each 
one of us is unconsciously form- 
ing. While you are busy in the 
house, or the shop, or the store ; while you are talk- 
ing or resting, thinking or playing ; while you are 
striving to get money or favor, comfort or friends, 
behind the screen that separates the visible from the 
invisible there is a workman constantly occupied in 
giving form and feature to your inner soul or self. 




5 4& BE A TEN PA THS. 

You cannot see this workman, and you are probably 
quite unconscious of the fact that he is effecting any 
change within you ; but he is there all the time. And 
never was sculptor so diligent in giving shape to the 
marble, never was painter so tireless in putting color 
upon the canvas, as is this unseen artisan in his plas- 
mic work. 

By character, then, we are to understand simply the 
form and features of the soul. Just as every human 
body has a certain physical conformation that distin- 
guishes it from all other bodies, so every soul has certain 
characteristics that distinguish it from all other souls. 
It is just as impossible for any individual to be without 
a character as it is for him to be without a body that 
has form, features, complexion. 

Whatever our character may be, it is all the time 
disclosing itself to the world. We never speak a word 
or perform an act without making some revelation of 
the nature and distinguishing marks of our inner 
self. Every tone, of the voice, every glance of the eye, 
every movement of hand or foot, gives some indication 
as to the beauty or deformity, the power or weakness 
of that workmanship which is going on within. It may 
be as difficult to interpret character as it is to decipher 
Egyptian hieroglyphics ; but though difficult, it is not 
impossible. A man may endeavor to conceal the 
features of his soul, just as the criminal endeavors to 
disguise his countenance ; but to the practised eye the 
artifice avails but little. 

Some characters reveal themselves at once ; others 
take time for their full disclosure. " Do you take me 



CHARACTER. 547 

for a fool, sir ? '" thundered a fiery Scotch laird to his 
new footman. "Ye see, sir," replied the cautious servant, 
" I'm no lang here, an' I wadna like to venture an opeen- 
ion." On short acquaintance one may hesitate to venture 
an opinion ; but time rectifies our blunders, and helps 
the world to estimate every man at his proper rating. 
Satan himself may appear as an angel of light at 
first ; but whosoever abides in his company is sure to 
discover before long the cloven foot and the lying- 
tongue. It is useless, therefore, for man or woman to 
attempt concealment. Character, like murder, "will 
out." In the case of some particular individual, pure 
brass may be mistaken to-day for pure gold ; but the 
fraud cannot last forever. The world is neither fool- 
ish nor indulgent. It will not suffer itself to be hood- 
winked. With infinite patience it goes on weighing 
every man in the scales of its judgment until his repu- 
tation comes to represent his character with almost ab- 
solute fidelity. In ninety-nine cases out of the hundred, 
those who are in bad repute deserve to be where the 
world has put them. 

The easiest way of obtaining a good reputation is 
to acquire the character of which it is the counter- 
part. The world is not disposed to be blind to honest 
merit. A certain monarch, it is said, endeavored to 
instruct his son in the duties that pertained to the 
kingly office. " The great art of governing," said he, 
41 is to make the people believe that the king knows 
more than his subjects." " But how," asked the son, 
" is he to make them believe it ? " " Simply by know- 
ing more," answered the wise father. The world will 



548 BE A TEN PA THS. 

not willingly allow jewels to remain buried in the mud. 
The instinct of the masses guides them to the hero as 
surely as the instinct of the bee guides it to the spot 
where lies the honey. When one of the tragedies of 
^Eschylus was being played at Athens, a certain sen- 
tence was uttered in favor of moral goodness ; and, it 
is said, at once the eyes of the audience involuntarily 
turned from the actor to that spot in the amphithea- 
tre where sat Aristides the Just. What were all the 
riches of the world compared with a good name like 
that! 

Character, then, we may be sure, cannot be con- 
cealed. There are no men and women among our 
acquaintances, of whose character we are in absolute 
ignorance. We know something of every one ; and in 
many cases our knowledge is minute and intimate. 
And O what infinite variety is presented in these spir- 
itual figures that disclose themselves beneath the veil 
of flesh ! Never can such motley procession assemble 
in the outward world as that which reveals itself to 
the student of the soul. The spiritual substance is 
more ethereal, more plastic, more susceptible to train- 
ing and influence than is the material. The spiritual 
being has an individuality more marked and remark- 
able than can ever be that of the body. The face of 
one may be mistaken for that of another ; but there 
is no possibility of making mistakes in souls. 

Hence one of the first things to be desired in any 
adequate study of character is some principle on 
which we may classify the varying types that we meet 
from day to day. This may be done by seizing upon. 



CHARACTER. 549 

some salient feature of the soul, just as, in classifying 
the various types of physical manhood and woman- 
hood, we draw distinctions according to some pecu- 
liarity of the person. The length or plumpness of the 
figure, the size of the nose, the color of the eyes or 
hair, are used as distinguishing marks. And we have 
as the result, tall men and short, fat men and lean, 
straight-nosed, pug-nosed, hook-nosed, blue-eyed, black- 
eyed, grey-eyed, brown-eyed specimens of humanity. 
Now, in the same way, you may classify characters by 
any dominant feature or peculiarity, in which case 
every intellectual as well as every moral quality gives 
a dividing line. Some individuals are intelligent and 
others are stupid, some imaginative and others pro- 
saic, some reflective and others superficial. And in 
the same manner, with reference to moral qualities, 
some are honest and others dishonest, some coura- 
geous and others cowardly, some miserly and others 
charitable. Thus characters may be classified in 
accordance with some particular feature of the soul ; 
and this is what the unscientific mind is always doing. 
But it is possible for us to get down to a deeper 
principle than this. If you study the character of any 
individual for any length of time, you will notice that 
there are certain minute but quite perceptible changes 
constantly taking place in it, and that these changes 
run along definite lines. We note not simply a change, 
but a change in the way of development, of progress 
in a certain direction. As we are accustomed to put 
it, character grows, and the change is only incidental 
and essential to the growth. In other words, that un- 



5 5 O BE A TEN PA THS. 

seen artisan, whom I pictured as toiling away there 
behind the screen, works apparently in a rational 
manner, with a definite plan and purpose. He seems 
to have some end before him, some ideal in his mind, 
which he is striving to realize ; and as the days and 
years pass by, that ideal of spiritual beauty or ugli- 
ness which dominates him stands out more and more 
distinct in the substance of the spirit. 

Sometimes this truth is expressed by saying that 
character has its drift or current, by the direction of 
which our measurements must be taken. You know 
that in the river the great body of water is always 
flowing toward the level of the sea. There may, in 
places, be eddies near the shore, where the water 
seems to be flowing backward ; but it is the main cur- 
rent, and not the eddies, that we take into account in 
determining the direction of the stream. In like man- 
ner, the drift or current of a character frequently has 
its eddies. A man that seems to be drifting steadily 
downward toward ruin, will suddenly manifest a little 
eddy of goodness that may, for the time being, blind 
people to the real direction of his life. The miser 
may on some occasion surprise the world and himself 
by subscribing to foreign missions. The thief may 
manifest a sense of honor, and the coward, brought 
to bay, may fight like a hero. And on the other hand, 
some man whose life-current seems to be trending to- 
ward righteousness may manifest an eddy of wicked- 
ness, a relapse into evil, that will for the time being 
overwhelm with shame both himself and those who 
have put their faith in him. Charity may utter some 



CHARACTER. 55 1 

biting speech, and piety may lapse into an oath. 
Even the saintly John Wesley was once betrayed into 
writing thus concerning the author of that sublime 
hymn, Rock of Ages : " Mr. Augustus Toplady I know 
well ; but I do not fight with chimney sweepers. He 
is too dirty a writer for me to meddle with; I should 
only foul my fingers." These, however, are simply 
eddies in the tide ; they run contrary to the main cur- 
rent of the stream, which continues to flow hopefully 
onward as before. 

Now, it is just these currents or drifts in character 
that are most apt to be slighted by the superficial 
moralist. Such a man is most likely to commend 
particular virtues, and denounce specific vices ; but 
virtue and vice in themselves will probably be passed 
by with scant recognition. One might as well praise 
or disparage individual quantities of water, taking no 
account of the stream or current from which they 
have been drawn. You do well,' therefore, to recog- 
nize the existence of these drifts in the formation of 
character. You may always be sure that there is such 
a drift, though in the case of any particular individ- 
ual, it may be impossible to say at a glance whether 
bis life is flowing toward the sunless abyss or toward 
the sunlit sea. Judgment in many cases has to be 
suspended. But whether I can tell the direction of 
the movement or not, I know that the movement it- 
self is there. The Chinaman, when asked what he 
intended to make of a log of wood that he was hack- 
ing, replied, " Dunno. Maybe god ; maybe wood- 
chuck ! " I watch as well as I can the strokes of that 



552 BE A TEN PA THS. 

mysterious workman who, behind the veil of sense, 
toils on so tirelessly; and I know that he is working, 
and working also along certain lines ; but whether it 
is a divine ima^e, or the likeness of somethine worth- 
less and bestial, that he is fashioning out of the spir- 
itual substance, may not be fully manifest until that 
last great day, when in the eyes of the whole rational 
universe, the veil of flesh shall be swept aside from his 
workmanship, and the final judgment shall be pro- 
nounced upon it. 

O what changes are now going on in this unseen 
empire of the spirit ! Never did Alexander with his 
conquering hosts effect such transformations in the 
political configuration of the globe, as each one of us 
is producing in the realm of things invisible. So 
steadily and so rapidly are these changes wrought 
within us, that the lapse of a few years is often sufficient 
to produce the most astounding result. Once, so the 
story runs, an artist made the portrait of a beautiful 
child, a face so sweet, so truthful, so innocent that it might 
have belonged to some cherub from Paradise. There 
upon the walls of his studio the artist hung the pic- 
ture, and it became to him in time a kind of talisman,, 
an altar of the invisible discharging heavenly ministries^ 
a place where the angels of light seemed to gather, 
bringing warnings and inspirations, sweet persuasions; 
and messages of hope. As the years passed, the 
artist conceived the idea of painting a companion 
picture, some face so darkened by crime and so de- 
based by sensuality that it would fittingly represent 
the deepest depths to which humanity can fall. He 



CHARACTER. 553. 

found the countenance that he sought at last, the face 
of a criminal who lay writhing with remorse upon the 
floor of a prison cell ; and he painted those features, 
in all their hellish despair and malignity. But when 
the story of the criminal's life came to be told, the 
artist recognized that the man was none other than 
that little child whose beautiful features had so fasci- 
nated and beguiled him through the long and weary 
years. Whether this story ever had its counterpart 
in real life, I do not know ; but ah, my friends, it cuts 
too close to the facts of your life and mine for us to 
say that it could not be true. It takes not many 
years for an angel of Paradise to become transformed 
into a fiend of Hell. 

There are these drifts in character, then, these cur- 
rents, which are the deepest and most important things 
for us to notice. And as we know so well, there are 
only two directions in which the current of our lives 
can set. Let me indicate what these directions are. 
Each one of us is a denizen of two worlds, the world 
of the flesh and the world of the spirit. There is, 
first of all, the physical universe which reveals itself 
to us as well as to every lower creature, this world 
that comes home to us through the senses, the world 
that we see and handle and hear, the world that we 
enjoy in common with every bird of the air and every 
beast of the fields. But there is a higher world of 
which the beasts know nothing, the world of things 
unseen, intangible, spiritual. The great question con- 
cerning any man is not whether he is going to get 
into this spiritual world by and by ; for every hu- 



554 BEA TEN PA THS - 

man being, by virtue of his humanity, is in it now, 
There is not a day of our lives that it does not mani- 
fest its reality to us. There are motives that make 
themselves constantly felt in the soul of man, which 
are not and can never be derived from sensation, 
motives which prompt us at times to trample every 
physical good beneath our feet. Every day we feel 
that there is something near to us, which, though we 
cannot touch it or see it, is nevertheless the profound- 
est reality of our lives. 

Since, then, we are really denizens of two worlds, 
the great problem of life and character is, To which 
world will you conform yourself, to the physical or to 
the spiritual ? Will you have this workman who is 
moulding character behind the veil, work with an eye 
to the seen world alone, or to that which is unseen ? 
The answer that we give to this question settles in 
which direction the life-current is to flow. 

It may occur to you that the distinction thus indi- 
cated is not a novel one by any means. More than 
eighteen centuries ago Saint Paul, referring to this 
matter, spoke of certain individuals " who walk not 
after the flesh, but after the spirit." And the same 
Paul tells the world of a great inward conflict in 
which he himself was engaged, of a law in his mem- 
bers warring against the law of his mind. In this 
struggle every man must take part, who would con- 
form himself to his spiritual environment. Voltaire 
declares, " There is no man who has not something of 
the wild beast in him ; " but at the same time, we may 
add, there is no man who has not something of the 



CHAR A CTER. 555 

divine in him. There is always a fight going on 
between the ancrel and the beast in human nature to 
determine which shall have the ascendency. The two 
cannot co-exist as independent factors ; one must 
dominate the other. The beast tries to put the angel 
in chains, and may even succeed in destroying its 
influence altogether. But the angel, on the other 
hand, may enchain the beast, and tame it, and render 
it serviceable in carrying forward the heavenly pur- 
poses. 

This distinction is all the time working itself out in 
the practical lives of men. One man toils industriously 
for the support and comfort of the human animal. 
He clothes it, feeds it, houses it, and gives it the 
means of gratifying its desires. And there his work 
stops. He may not be a bad or immoral man at all; 
he simply devotes whatever energy and skill he has 
to the work of supporting and ministering to his ani- 
mal nature. But another man, while taking care of 
the animal, as he is in duty bound to do, cultivates 
the spiritual side of his nature, and makes his work a 
means not simply to bodily livelihood, but also to the 
subsistence and development of the spirit. In many 
cases it is difficult to say for just what the individual 
is toiling and planning, whether he is working for the 
spirit or for the flesh. For work is so universal, so 
compulsory, so uniform in its results and methods, 
no matter what may be the motive that actuates it, 
that it is almost impossible from the outward form of 
the life to infer its inner and essential spirit. 

But when men are released from the necessity of 



556 BE A TEN PA THS. 

toil and are left at liberty to enjoy themselves, the 
distinction comes out in the most marked and unmis- 
takable manner. There are people who cut down 
their enjoyments to so small a scale that every crea- 
ture of the fields and woods may be said to partici- 
pate with them. They seek enjoyment simply as hu- 
man animals. They eat, drink, and are merry. But 
there are others that, when suffered to enjoy them- 
selves in perfect freedom, naturally and instinctively 
find their delight in those intellectual and spiritual 
pleasures in which no lower animal can possibly have 
a share. 

We see this distinction cropping out even in the vir- 
tues. Take honesty, for example. There is an hon- 
esty of the flesh, which may be cultivated by a man 
who is making not the slightest attempt to realize him- 
self as a spiritual being. There is an honesty that 
man shares in common with cats and dogs and oxen, 
It goes only skin-deep, and is expressed by the well 
known maxim, " Honesty is the best policy." Now> 
any thievish cat or mongrel cur can get as high up 
as that in the scale of being. On the other hand, 
there are some men who are honest not from policy 
so much as from principle. They are honest even 
when they see nothing but personal loss to themselves 
as the result of such honesty. They are honest when 
it does not appear politic to be honest, because they 
recognize that honesty is the law of that higher spir- 
itual sphere to which they are endeavoring to con- 
form themselves. These, in truth, are the only hon- 
est men that we have ; for the men who are honest 



CHARACTER. 557 

from policy are not honest at all : they are simply 
politic. It was assuredly only those who are honest 
from principle that the poet Pope referred to when he 
said, 

" An honest man's the noblest work of God." 

The man who is honest from principle is a noble ex- 
ponent of the divine element in human nature. But 
the man who is honest from policy is not the noblest 
work of God ; at most he is only the noblest work of 
the devil. 

Take, again, anger in that form which is so commonly 
known as temper. A little child will throw himself 
prostrate on the floor with rage, and scream, and 
kick, in a perfect frenzy of passion. But in this re- 
spect he is simply acting out that nature which he 
shares with the lower animals. With very little 
trouble you can make a dog or a bull or a turkey- 
cock go through a similar performance. But there is 
an anger of a higher kind ; there is an anger of the 
spirit that ennobles rather than debases him who feels 
it. There is a wrath of the soul, passionless, intense, 
and awful as the wrath of God, a wrath that is too 
lofty to seek vengeance, but that insists upon having 
sway. It was this that the apostle referred to when 
he said, " Beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather 
give way unto wrath." When any scandalous act of 
injustice is committed, every noble spirit mounts into 
a white flame of indignation. The man who can be- 
hold cruelty and oppression without feelings of this 
kind must have the spirit of a craven, rather than the 



558 BE A TEN PA THS. 

spirit of a man. Such a wrath is the only appropri- 
ate expression that the soul can make of its repug- 
nance to things base and mean. It is essential to the 
very existence of manhood. It is this that the Bible 
speaks of in its mention of the wrath of God. 

In the same way, there are two kinds of courage 
that men are all the time manifesting, one purely ani- 
mal, and the other spiritual. There are some whose 
heroism rests altogether on a physical basis, men who 
do heroic things simply because they are courageous 
animals. But there are others who acquit themselves 
as heroes because of a moral courage that has its 
origin in the soul rather than in the body. While the 
nerves shrink and the knees tremble, it may be, the 
soul for the sake of principle commands the body to> 
assume the risk, and the heroic deed is done. A 
courage of this kind is infinitely higher than the 
other. 

To illustrate what I mean, let me give two exam- 
ples, one taken from Napier's History of the Peninsu- 
lar War, and the other from certain records preserved 
in the Bodleian library at Oxford. We read that at 
the Coa, " a north of Ireland man named Stewart, but 
jocularly called 'The Boy,' because of his youth, nine- 
teen, and of his gigantic stature and strength, who 
had fought bravely and displayed great intelligence 
beyond the river, was one of the last men who came 
down to the bridge, but he would not pass. Turning 
round, he regarded the French with a grim look, and 
spoke aloud as follows : ' So this is the end of our 
brag. This is our first battle, and we retreat ! The 



CHARACTER. 559 

boy Stewart will not live to hear that said.' Then 
striding forward in his giant might he fell furiously on 
the nearest enemies with the bayonet, refused the 
quarter they seemed desirous of granting, and died 
fighting in the midst of them." % Now, you cannot read 
that story of utter foolhardiness and pertinacity with- 
out feeling that something very similar is done by 
every bull-dog that seizes its victim, and refuses to 
release its hold until its throat is cut. In either case 
the courage is that of an animal. 

But here is the other story, revealing courage of a 
higher kind : " The tower-door of St. Leonard's 
Church, Bridgeworth, England, was left open, and two 
young boys, wandering in, were tempted to mount to 
the upper part, and scramble from beam to beam. 
All at once a joist gave way. The beam on which 
they were standing became displaced. The elder had 
just time to grasp it when falling, while the younger, 
slipping over his body, caught hold of his comrade's 
legs. In this fearful position the poor lads hung, 
crying vainly for help, for no one was near. At 
length the boy clinging to the beam became exhausted. 
He could no longer support the double weight. He 
called out to the lad below that they were both done for. 

'Could you save yourself if I were to loose you?' 
replied the little lad. 

1 1 think I could,' returned the other. 

1 Then good-by and God bless you ! ' cried the little 
fellow, loosing his hold. Another second, and he was 
dashed to pieces on the stone floor below. His com- 
panion clambered to a place of safety." 

33 



5 6o BE A TEN PA THS. 



Here is something that we instinctively recognize 
as heroism. The little fellow whose manly heart led 
him to sacrifice himself for his companion, is a hero, 
while the pertinacious soldier who rushed upon death 
simply to glut his own passion, is not. It is only by 
obedience to the mandates of the spiritual man that 
heroes are made. Napoleon fired the hearts of his 
army w r hen, fronting the forces of the Mamelukes be- 
neath the shadow of the Pyramids, he cried, " Soldiers, 
remember that from yonder piles of stone forty cen- 
turies look down upon you ! " But alas ! Napoleon 
in all his career never touched the spiritual height 
reached by him who from his battle-ship at Trafalgar 
signalled to the British troops, " England expects 
every man to do his duty ! " Napoleon's watchword 
was Glory ; Nelson's was Duty. Glory — that is some- 
thing for which horses contend on the course, and 
chickens in the cockpit, and prizefighters in the ring. 
But duty is that which inspires and controls the myr- 
iads of heaven. 

That little word duty is the noblest in all our vo- 
cabulary. It was duty that led the heathen Pompey, 
when he was urged to refrain from going to Rome on 
an important mission, to reply, " It is necessary for 
me to go ; it is not necessary for me to live." It was 
duty that made the hearts of timid Christian maidens 
strong as steel in the ancient days of persecution. It 
was duty that led brave John Maynard to stand stead- 
ily at the helm, keeping his burning vessel, with her 
human cargo, headed straight for the shore, while the 
flames burned to a crisp the noble hands that held the 



CHARACTER. 56 1 

wheel. It was duty that thrilled the hearts of the 
English seamen at Trafalgar. It was the call of duty 
that, less than a generation ago, rang out like the blast 
of the archangel's trumpet through all these Northern 
States, till every heart glowed with a fire of right- 
eous indignation and patriotism such as can never be 
kindled save from the altars of heaven. Then men, 
women, and children even, became transfigured into 
the heroic, and by their united sacrifice and devotion 
proclaimed to all coming time this glorious truth, 
that human beings are put upon the earth for some- 
thing nobler than to eat, drink, and be merry. 

Those who come thus openly before the world, re- 
vealing the heroic element in human nature, are our 
greatest benefactors. Not simply are we indebted to 
them for the immediate practical results that their 
heroism secures ; they quicken self-respect throughout 
the whole length and breadth of society ; they estab- 
lish faith in human nature in general ; they do much 
to strengthen the attachment of men to that divine 
principle of duty which is so apt to be slighted ; and 
their illustrious example is handed down for the guid- 
ance and inspiration of succeeding generations. 

The longer you live, the more will you be surprised 
at the amount of genuine nobility that exists in the 
world. Diogenes the Cynic once cried in the market- 
place of Athens, " Hear me, O men ! " But when the 
crowd began to assemble, he said with scorn, " I 
called for men, not for pygmies ! " But Diogenes was 
wrong. The call is for men, and human nature on all 
sides is responding magnificently to that call. There 



562 BE A TEN PA THS. 

is never a great accident at home or abroad ; never a 
fire, flood, or famine, that does not reveal more than 
one case of conspicuous heroism. The heroes toil 
away at the anvil, on the schooners deck, or deep 
down in the mine, unnoticed and possibly despised ; 
but when the crisis comes and the cry goes forth for 
men, the man appears, and the latent nobility of his 
character becomes apparent to all. The hero is essen- 
tially a hero all the time, living by the higher princi- 
ple, and waiting the call of the crisis to reveal the. 
secret of his life to the world. 

And in the uneventful tenor of private life there 
are critical occasions all the time presenting them- 
selves, that make demands upon the courage and re- 
veal the essential drift of the character. When Carey, 
the missionary, sat at the Governor-General's table in 
India, he overheard one officer asking another whether 
the missionary had not once been a shoemaker. " No," - 
quickly responded Carey, " only a cobbler ! " To ren- 
der such a reply in such a company, involved quite as 
great a draft upon the courage as to lead a body of 
troops up to the cannon's mouth. There is no career, 
however peaceable and ignoble, that does not afford 
opportunities for the development of this nobler side 
of our nature. " Here in this poor, miserable, ham- 
pered, despicable Actual, wherein thou now standest," 
cries Carlyle, " here or nowhere is thy Ideal ; work it 
out therefrom ; and, working, believe, live, be free I " 
The humblest life may breed heroes. 

I dare say that some will be inclined to doubt this ; 
because the world, just now, is putting a great deal of 



CHARACTER. 563 

stress upon something called environment, and the 
environment of many lives seems to be exceedingly 
commonplace. " What ! " you say, " Can the heroic 
be developed in cottage or forge, behind the counter 
and the dish-pan ? " Most decidedly it can. Ah, friend, 
you who put so much stress upon environment, you 
who are pleading for leisure, books, companionship, 
culture, you who long for stirring scenes and great 
occasions, you are forgetting that the soul is environed 
not simply by the things that are seen, but also by those 
that are unseen ; you forget that from the kingdom of 
the invisible in which we are already living, there comes 
to us all the gracious and uplifting influence that is 
necessary to enable us to be brave and noble and 
good. 

Here, in that middle region between the temporal 
and the spiritual, we are living ; and whether we sink 
into the merely animal life, or rise into that which is 
higher, rests altogether with ourselves. The influences 
of both worlds are beating upon us, and we are at lib- 
erty to follow either. " Free will," says George Mac- 
Donald, "is not the liberty to do whatever one likes, 
but the power of doing whatever one sees ought to be 
done, even in the very face of otherwise overwhelming 
impulses." 

" So close is glory to our dust, 

So near is God to man ; 
When duty whispers low, Thou must, 

The youth replies, I can." 



When you ask that question of questions, how 



a 



564 B E A TEN PA THS. 

right character may be acquired, the answer is near 
at hand. A noble character is open to every one who 
will persist in doing his duty. That is the secret of 
the whole matter. 

In closing, let me say a word or two as to the ad- 
visability of cultivating just such a character as I have 
outlined, a character that is as true to duty as the 
magnetic needle is to the pole. Never were such re- 
wards accorded to the possession of a noble and vir- 
tuous manhood as are to-day given to it in the busi- 
ness, the political, and the social worlds. Other things 
being equal, the man of character goes steadily to the 
front, while those who are morally weak are forced to 
the rear. When President Garfield was a boy, some- 
body asked him what he meant to be ; and his reply 
was, " First of all, I must make a man of myself ; if I 
do not succeed in that, I can succeed in nothing." 

Mirabeau declares, " If there were no honesty, it 
would be invented as a means of getting wealth." But 
woe be unto you if you adopt honesty, or any other 
virtue, from such low considerations as that ! Man is 
too great and divine a being to allow himself to be 
swayed by motives of policy alone. Honesty is right. 
Truthfulness is right. Charity is right. Chastity is 
right. And it is better for you to be simply right 
than to win all the wealth and honors that the world 
can offer. " I had rather be right," cried Henry Clay, 
" than to be president of the United States." There 
is the principle that never fails of bringing success ; 
for wealth and honor alone are not success, but char- 
acter is. And the time is coming when he who, by 



CHARACTER. 565 

faithful adherence to duty, has established his charac- 
ter in righteousness, will by every rational being be 
adjudged the successful man. 

Little as we dream of it, there is a process of selec- 
tion constantly going on, by which the wheat is being 
winnowed from the chaff, and the good from the evil. 
Little as we dream of it, our characters are always 
developing away from or nearer to the spiritual ideal. 
Little as we dream of it, this workman who toils on 
behind the screen, is simply following the design which 
you and I are setting before him. Some day his 
work will be complete. Some day the statue will be 
unveiled. And the verdict of the All-wise that will 
then be passed upon it, will determine whether it shall 
abide in the heavenly halls, or be consigned forever 
to darkness and oblivion. 

" Take thou no thought for aught but truth and right, 
Content, if such thy fate, to die obscure ; 
Youth fails and honors ; fame may not endure, 
And loftier souls soon weary of delight. 
Keep innocence ; be all a true man ought, 
Let neither pleasure tempt nor pain appal ; 
Who hath this, he hath all things having naught ; 
Who hath it not, hath nothing having all." 



XXV. 
THE BIBLE. 



" I meet men who do not believe John wrote John's Gospel. Well, 
what matters it whether he did or not ? There is a forest in England, it is 
said, which William the Conqueror planted ; but what do I care whether 
he planted it or not ? If I can ride through it, why should I care who 
planted it ? There are the trees, and there is the shade ; and if I can 
enjoy the benefits of them that is enough." 

— Henry Ward Beecher. 

" After all, the Bible must be its own argument and defense. The 
power of it can never be proved unless it is felt. The authority of it 
can never be supported unless it is manifest. The light of it can never 
be demonstrated unless it shines." 

—H.J. Van Dyke. 

UESTIONS as to the divine ori- 
gin and authority of the Scrip- 
tures do not affect their value as 
literary products. He that 
would ascertain which book, of 
all the volumes that crowd our 
libraries, is most deserving of 
study, need not wait long for an answer. There is one 
book that has come down the centuries with a con- 
stant increase of influence and renown. While other 
volumes have appeared only to be buried by the 
thousand in the march of civilization, this one has more 
than held its own against the assaults of time. It has 





THE OLD, OLD STORY. 



THE BIBLE. 569 

furnished delight to the child, counsel to the young, 
comfort to the sorrowing, strength to the infirm, and 
wisdom to both the unlearned and the sage. Not only 
is the general verdict of Christendom in its favor, but 
even those who do not accept its teachings have not 
hesitated to accord it the highest place in the literature 
of the world. 

Sir Matthew Hale declared, "There is no book like 
the Bible for excellent wisdom, learning, and use." 
Queen Elizabeth said, " I walk many times in the 
pleasant fields of the Holy Scriptures, where I pluck 
up the goodlisome herbs of sentences by pruning, eat 
them by reading, digest them by musing, and lay them 
up at length in the high seat of memory by gathering 
them together ; so that, having tasted their sweetness, 
I may perceive the bitterness of life." Sir Walter 
Scott declared on his death-bed that " among all books 
there is but one, even as among men there has been 
but One whose being was divine." Sir William Jones, 
the great Oriental scholar, wrote on the blank page of 
his Bible, "The Scriptures contain, independently of a 
divine origin, more true sublimity, more exquisite 
beauty, purer morality, more important history, and 
finer strains both of poetry and eloquence, than could 
be collected, within' the same compass, from all other 
books that were ever composed in any age or in any 
idiom." When John Locke was asked how a young 
man could, in the shortest and surest way, attain a 
knowledge of the Christian religion, he made this 
reply : "Let him study the Holy Scriptures, especially 
the New Testament. Therein are contained the words 



5 ;o BE A TEN PA THS. 

of eternal life. It has God for its author, salvation for 
its end, and truth, without any mixture of error, for 
its matter." Fichte wrote of the Scriptures, " The 
ancient and venerable record, taken altogether, con- 
tains the profoundest and the loftiest wisdom, and 
presents those results to which all philosophy must at 
last return." John Stuart Mill, another philosopher 
who had no bias toward Christianity, wrote, " It is im- 
possible to find in the ideals of any philosophy, even 
the latest, a single point which is not anticipated and 
ennobled in Christianity." John Adams asserted : 
"The Bible is the best book in the world. It contains 
more of my little philosophy than all the libraries I 
have seen." John Quincy Adams followed in the 
same strain : " For pathos of narrative ; for the se- 
lection of incidents that go directly to the heart ; for 
the picturesque in character and manner ; the selection 
of circumstances that mark the individuality of per- 
sons ; for copiousness, grandeur, and sublimity of im- 
agery ; for unanswerable cogency and closeness of 
reasoning ; and for irresistible force of persuasion, no 
book in the world deserves to be so unceasingly studied, 
and so profoundly meditated upon as the Bible." And 
Theodore Parker speaks thus of its wonderful influ- 
ence : "Asa river springs up in the heart of a sandy 
continent, having its father in the skies and its birth- 
place in distant unknown mountains ; as the stream 
rolls on, enlarging itself, making in that arid waste a 
belt of verdure wherever it turns its way ; creating 
palm groves and fertile plains where the smoke of the 
cottages curls up at eventide, and marble cities send 



THE BIBLE. 571 

the gleam of their splendor far into the sky ; such has 
been the course of the Bible on the earth." 

Here is a book that has left as powerful an impress on 
our civilization as all other volumes combined. Our lit- 
erature is fairly permeated with its influence and teach- 
ings; our architecture, music, and painting have 
reached their noblest triumphs in the effort to embody 
those divine ideals with which the Bible has fired the 
hearts of men; our political and social system has 
been in a larg-e measure derived from it; and our 
moral reforms all find in it their inspiration and seek 
from it their authority. It is safe to say that no man 
can understand the past, grasp the present, or forecast 
the future of the Anglo-Saxon people, who refuses to 
become intimately conversant with the teachings of 
the Scriptures. Hence, as John Quincy Adams so 
aptly put the matter, " It is not so much praiseworthy 
to be acquainted with, as it is shameful to be ignorant 
of it." If, therefore, you have time for only one book, 
by all means let it be the Bible. 

Although in outward form the Bible is but a single 
volume, it really constitutes a whole library — a library 
of some sixty-six books in all, carefully chosen because 
of their intrinsic value and the relation that they hold to 
one great central theme. Here we have histories, poems, 
works on law, orations, fantastic and symbolical vis- 
ions, and letters to various individuals and communities. 
In language, in style, in age and character, these 
books of the Bible manifest as great a variety as any 
sixty-six volumes that you can take at random from 
your library. The works of the Old Testament are 



572 BE A TEN PA THS. 

written in Hebrew ; those of the New Testament in 
Greek. Unlike the Koran of Mahomet, which was 
completed in a single lifetime, the biblical literature 
required some fifteen centuries for its development. 
One by one the various works accumulated, whole 
centuries passing at times without bringing a single 
addition, while at other periods the additions were 
numerous and important. 

It was not till many centuries after the New Testa- 
ment had been written that the process of printing 
-came into use ; consequently all copies of the Scrip- 
tures had at first to be made by hand. If you were 
to come across one of these old manuscripts of the 
Gospels, you would notice many differences between 
it and the ordinary Greek Testament of to-day. It 
would be written upon parchment or vellum, instead 
of paper ; capital letters only would be employed ; 
and you would miss in it not only the ordinary signs 
of punctuation, but also the spacing between the 
words, and even that division into chapters and verses 
which we find so convenient to-day. In these earlier 
manuscripts each book is an almost unbroken series 
of capital letters from beginning to end. If you can 
imagine the Gospel of John as printed something like 
this, it will give you an idea of how the first New Tes- 
taments appeared : INTHEBEGINNINGWASTHE 
W O R D A NDTHE WORD WAS WITHGO D A N D 
THEWORDWASGOD. After a time small letters 
came to be employed in the manuscripts, instead of 
capitals. In the thirteenth century our present divi- 
sion into chapters was made ; but not till the year 



THE BIBLE. 573 

155 1 were these chapters subdivided into our present 
verses. In reading the Bible, therefore, we do well to 
remember that the division into chapters and verses 
was not made by the inspired writers, and that in 
several instances it destroys the sense of what they 
wrote. 

Now, the men whose business it was to write out 
copies of the Scriptures for the use of the churches 
and of individual Christians, did their work exceed- 
ingly well ; but they could not help making mistakes 
once in a while. And a mistake made in one copy, 
was likely to be duplicated in every copy that was 
subsequently prepared from this. So that to-day we 
have as many as one hundred and fifty thousand dif- 
ferent " readings," or variations in the different manu- 
scripts. These must all be considered by every scholar 
who attempts to edit a Greek New Testament. Of 
these variations Dr. Ezra Abbot says, " Nineteen- 

twentieths are of no authority, and nineteen- 

twentieths of the remainder are of no importance as 
affecting the sense." No one who makes a study of 
this subject can doubt that we have the New Testa- 
ment substantially, but not exactly, as it was origi- 
nally written. Those early transcribers made mis- 
takes enough to prevent us from worshipping the mere 
letter of the Scriptures, but not mistakes enough to 
warrant even the most captious in rejecting any 
essential part of the history or doctrine that these 
books contain. 

From the beginning, a great many translations of 
both the Old and the New Testaments were made. 



574 BEATEN PATHS. 

Those who spoke the Latin language or the Syriac 
had to wait but a little while before the Scriptures 
were oriven them in their native tongue ; other nations 
were compelled to wait longer. Of the English trans- 
lations of the Bible, there are two that are familiar to 
us, the Authorized Version of 1611, and the Anglo- 
American Revision of this Version, published only 
recently. These two can hardly be regarded as com- 
petitors for popular favor. For reading and study, 
he who would be abreast of the times will unquestion- 
ably use that Revised Version which the ripest schol- 
arship of our own generation has placed at his dis- 
posal. It gives a better idea of what the inspired 
writers wrote than the reader who is unacquainted 
with the original tongues can derive from any other 
source. To wilfully neglect that light which the best 
scholarship of the age sheds upon the inspired vol- 
ume, is to shut oneself against the truth. 

The various books of the Bible, diverse as they are 
in many respects, all deal with one central theme, Re- 
demption. History, prophecy, psalm, poem, proverb, 
meditation, gospel, epistle, all discourse on this theme 
" by divers portions and in divers manners." The 
Bible in its entirety may be defined as a history of the 
origin and development of that redemptive process 
which is going on in Christendom to-day. The first 
pages of the Old Testament bring us face to face 
with the fact of sin — a fact that receives constant con- 
firmation in every man's experience to-day — and we 
read there the inspiring story of how God Himself 
came down to lead our first parents back into those 



THE BIBLE. 575 

paths of virtue which they had forsaken. This story 
strikes the key-note of the Biblical literature. It con- 
stitutes the spring whence the stream of pure religion 
takes its rise — a stream whose course we are per- 
mitted to trace down the centuries, until in the Apos- 
tolic days, it overflows its ancient channel, and be- 
gins to cover the face of the earth. 

That in this work of redemption, one nation should 
be chosen as the channel through which the gracious 

o o 

influences of God are brought to bear upon the world, 
should occasion no surprise. There is no partiality in 
the Divine procedure. It is the world, rather than the 
Jewish people, that is uppermost in God's thought. If 
He vouchsafes to them special care and guidance, it is 
simply because He would eventually use them as His 
instruments for conveying the blessing of pure relig- 
ion to all the nations of the earth. 

This fact renders considerable help in understand- 
ing the Bible. God's aim in those Old Testament 
times was not so much the formation of an infallible 
book, as the training and development of a people. 
He strove to educate the nation in the fundamental 
principles of pure religion, rather than to prepare and 
transmit to the world a perfect text-book on the sub- 
ject. Because His work had to be wrought on imper- 
fect men through imperfect instruments, it required 
time for its execution. There is no sudden and com- 
plete transformation observable in the religious life of 
the people. God works by development, not by 
magic. There is " first the blade, then the ear, and 
then the full corn in the ear." The nation is not made 



576 BE A TEN PA THS. 

perfect in a day; but a steady change is brought about 
in the thought and life of the people through uplift- 
ing spiritual influences, a change that finds its great- 
est obstacle in the downward proclivity of the sinful 
heart. By slow and steady stages, the people are car- 
ried forward, and receive new disclosures of the divine 
truth as they are able to bear them. 

This imperfect condition in which the Divine grace 
finds that people, will explain the constant accomoda- 
tion to human weakness and depravity which we dis- 
cover in the pages af the Old Testament. God had 
to take men as He found them, and lead them upward 
by degrees. In speaking of the laxity of divorce legis- 
lation in the olden times, Christ declared that Moses, 
allowed it because of the hardness of men's hearts.. 
Slavery and polygamy were tolerated ; the warlike 
spirit of an early and barbarous age was not suddenly 
exterminated ; and men who would now bring disgrace 
upon any Christian community were then found tak- 
ing a prominent part in the services of religion. The 
justification of all this is, that to imperfect states of 
society perfect laws are not applicable. Men do not. 
see as well in the dim dawn of the morning as in the full 
light of noon. The steps of the infant are never as 
swift and sure as those of the man in his prime. This- 
principle of accomodation is recognized in education 
and statesmanship as well as in religion. 

This clears away many difficulties in the Old Testa- 
ment that have been known to perplex good Chris- 
tian people. If King David were being judged by the 
light of this nineteenth Christian century, he would 



THE BIBLE. 577 

hardly be called a man after God's own heart. But 
judged by the age in which he lived, by the character 
of the people who were about him, and by the mag- 
nificent work that he accomplished in forwarding the 
interests of true religion, there can hardly be any 
doubt in our minds as to •the place that he should 
occupy. 

In the same manner, it could hardly be expected 
that a fiery, passionate, semi-civilized people like the 
children of Israel, could be suddenly forced to desist 
from war. They fought ; they were obliged to fight. 
In those troubled times, the very existence of a nation 
depended upon its ability to give battle. If the He- 
brew people had attempted to keep the peace at all 
costs, a single decade would have sufficed to sw r eep 
them from the earth, and overthrow the plan and pur- 
pose of God in their extinction. In reading the Old 
Testament history, therefore, we are not to be sur- 
prised at the wars of the Israelites, nor at the harsh 
manner in which the vanquished were sometimes 
treated. For these things were the universal practice 
of the age. We are rather to be surprised at the fact 
that the martial spirit is held in such constant subser- 
vience to religion, and that, notwithstanding their 
many wars, Israel never developed into a great mili- 
tary power like Macedon and Rome. 

This principle of historical criticism explains also 
why slavery was tolerated in those ancient times. 
God's method was not to uproot a long standing institu- 
tion at a sudden stroke. He chose rather to put into 
society those great truths and principles by which in 



578 BE A TEN PA THS. 

time it should become so leavened that slavery must 
die a natural death. But even in the earliest ages, 
we find restrictions placed upon the institution which 
greatly mitigated its severity among the Hebrews. A 
master might not kill his slave at pleasure ; and the 
loss of an eye or a tooth gave to the bondsman his 
freedom. God's redemptive work begins by showing 
that the slave is something more than a mere chattel, 
and has rights that must be respected. Hence, among 
the Hebrews slavery became a comparatively mild 
form of service, as contrasted with what it was among 
other nations. 

Even in the New Testament days the practice of 
slavery continues, and receives no open condemna- 
tion. Paul sends Onesimus, a runaway slave who had 
been converted to Christianity, back to Philemon, his 
former master. But at the same time, Paul proclaims 
those great principles of the liberty of conscience, the 
natural rights of man, the responsibility of all men to 
God, and the brotherhood of all believers, which led 
the slave and his master to sit down together at the 
communion table on terms of equality. Christianity 
did not aim so directly at the destruction of the insti- 
tution itself, as at the destruction of that sinful germ 
out of which the evils of the institution had grown. 

This long line of redemptive development gives us 
a revelation of God and of His relations to men, and 
issues at length in that perfect form of religion, which 
we recognize as the religion of Christ. The process 
of development is to be judged by its ultimate out- 
come in Christianity. The question of questions is 



THE BIBLE. 579 

not, What think ye of Moses or David or Paul ? but, 
What think ye of Christ ? If we find difficulty and 
problems in our study of the Old Testament, the so- 
lution of these is to be discovered only in Christianity. 
And if we find many mysteries and ask many ques- 
tions to which no satisfactory answers can be given, 
we are to remember that a similar experience comes 
to students of the physical universe and of the 
human mind. There is mystery everywhere ; and to 
every intelligent mind there will come problem after 
problem to which no adequate solution can be found 
in the present state of our knowledge. God's method of 
educating His saints is to withhold answers until, by 
questioning and earnest search, these answers are 
found to be supremely desirable. He does not depre- 
ciate His revelation by giving it where it is neither 
needed nor sought. 

Now that I have indicated what the Bible is, it will 
be well to give a few hints as to the way in which it is 
to be studied and interpreted. You remember that 
story of the Sibylline books which is told in connec- 
tion with the early history of Rome, how Tarquinius 
Superbus was once accosted by a strange woman, who 
appeared before him with nine books which she offered 
for sale. And on his refusing to purchase, she went 
away and burned three of the books, and returned 
again, demanding for the remaining six the same price 
that she had originally asked for the nine. On, the 
king's again declining to purchase, she burned 
three more of the volumes, and returned once 
more, offering the remaining three at the original 



5 So BE A TEN PA THS. 

figure. The monarch was so impressed with the 
strange character of the event that he consulted his 
augurs, and was advised by them to purchase the re- 
maining volumes, " for," said they, " these are the 
books of the Sibyl, and contain great secrets ! " The 
books were accordingly purchased, and were deposited 
in a stone chest in the Capitol ; and two men were 
appointed to take charge of them, and to consult 
them whenever the State was in danger. 

That old heathen conception of the sacred books 
entered into the Christian Church, and for many cen- 
turies the Bible was looked upon as consisting of a ser- 
ies of oracular statements, whose veiled meaning none 
but the initiated could understand. In other words, 
the plain meaning of the Scriptures was contorted and 
twisted to suit the fancy of the interpreter. Origen, 
for example, pronounces it absurd to suppose that the 
world was created in six days, and looks upon the 
story of the creation as simply setting forth in a 
figurative way the renewal of the soul by Divine 
grace. He treats history as allegory, and goes the 
length of suggesting that the plague of the frogs in 
Egypt simply sets forth that vice of loquacity to which 
human nature is sometimes prone, the link of sacred 
suggestion being, in all probability, the disproportion- 
ate strength of a frog's voice to the size of its body. 
Augustine, following along in this line, intimates that 
when the Scriptures speak of clouds, they mean 
prophets ; when they speak of oxen, they mean apos- 
tles ; and when they speak of bulls, they allude to 
heretics. And so zealous is he to discover " types" 



THE BIBLE. 58 1 

in the Old Testament, that he regards the drunken- 
ness of Noah as a type of the passion of our Lord. 
To what lower depths can this insane zeal for finding 
hidden meanings in the Scriptures possibly descend ! 

On this subject no truer or stronger words can be 
spoken than those uttered by Frederick W. Robert- 
son : " There is nothing more miserable, as specimens 
of perverted ingenuity, than the attempts of certain 
commentators and preachers, to find remote, and re- 
condite, and intended allusions to Christ everywhere. 
For example, they chance to find in the construction 
of the temple the fusion of two metals, and this they 
conceive is meant to show the union of Divinity with 
humanity in Christ. If they read of the coverings 
to the tabernacle, they find implied the doctrine 
of imputed righteousness. If it chance that one 
of the curtains of the tabernacle be red, they see in 
that a prophecy of the blood of Christ. If they are 
told that the kingdom of heaven is a pearl of great 
price, they will see in it the allusion — that, as a pearl 
is the production of animal suffering, so the kingdom 
of heaven is produced by the sufferings of the Re- 
deemer. I mention this perverted mode of comment, 
because it is not merely harmless, idle, and useless ; it 
is positively dangerous. This is to make the Holy 
Spirit speak riddles and conundrums, and the interpre- 
tation of Scripture but clever riddle-guessing." 

In opposition to this fantastic and irresponsible 
method of interpretation, Christian scholarship is 
asserting to-day that the Bible is like all other litera- 
ture in having one definite and intelligible meaning. 



582 BE A TEN PA THS. 

We have no more right to play tricks with the Scrip- 
ture history than with Thucydides or Macaulay. The 
main question, and indeed the only question for us to 
decide, is what the author actually meant when he wrote 
such and such words. To answer this question satis- 
factorily, one must have candor, common sense, and 
scholarship, as well as the aid of the Divine Spirit. 

I insist, first, upon candor ; for few indeed are the 
men who come to the Bible w T ith an open and unpre- 
judiced mind, desiring simply to learn what the Scrip- 
tures really teach. This allegorical method of inter- 
pretation, which has so many charms for a lively im- 
agination ; the necessity of always choosing a text, 
which has led the pulpit to habitually " spiritualize " 
the commonest and most prosaic of sayings ; and that 
controversial spirit which for so many centuries has 
prevailed in theology, are all unfavorable to candor. 
Instead of endeavoring to get our knowledge from 
the Bible, we are apt to bring our preconceived ideas 
to the Bible, and attempt reading them into it. When,. 
for example, men take such a text as Isaiah vi. 3, 
" Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts," and attempt 
to draw from the threefold repetition of the word 
holy an argument for the Trinity, it is easy to see 
that they are reading the Bible in the interests of con- 
troversy rather than in the interests of truth. In 
order to discover just what the Bible teaches, there 
must be a calm, candid, and judicial spirit in the 
reader. 

But there must also be common sense, a quality 
which seems to be as rare among students of the 



THE BIBLE. 5 S3 

Scriptures as in any other class. You may have heard 
of the man who maintained that every woman now 
living possesses seven devils, because according to 
to the Bible, Mary Magdalene was the only woman 
who ever had them cast out. Or, to take a more 
common example, whenever I hear a man frantically 
declaiming that the slightest error or inaccuracy in 
the Bible would overturn the entire fabric of religion, 
I am reminded of the small boy's essay on Zoology: 
" There are," wrote he, " a great many donkeys in the 
theological gardens." Who ever heard of any sensi- 
ble man attempting to invalidate an entire history 
because of one or two minor inaccuracies ? The 
most insane court of justice that this world has ever 
seen would never apply such a canon in determining 
the trustworthiness of human testimony. 

When people affirm that the Scriptures imist be in- 
terpreted literally wherever a literal interpretation 
is possible, you perceive the lack of common sense. 
David says : 

" Make me to hear joy and gladness ; 

That the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice." 

Common sense should tell us at once that here the 
psalmist is using the figurative language of the poet, 
rather than the literal language of prose. He simply 
means that he is in distress, not that his anatomical 
structure has met with disaster. When Jesus speaks 
of the bread and wine as being His body and His 
blood, common sense, to say nothing of the sensations 
of the palate, would lead us to give a metaphorical 
and poetical, rather than a literal meaning to His 



584 BE A TEN PA THS. 

words. And when, in the rapt experiences of the 
prophet gazing on things to come, He speaks of Him- 
self as " coming in the clouds of heaven with power 
and great glory," common sense would surely indicate 
that He is using that highly wrought imagery which is 
so characteristic of prophetical discourse. 

But candor and common sense are not sufficient 
without scholarship. If you had to interpret the 
Vedic hymns, or the Dialogues of Plato, or the Di- 
vina Commedia of Dante, you would at once recog- 
nize the necessity of scholarship. But when men 
come to the Bible, there is an idea that the aid of the 
Holy Spirit, which is promised and given, supersedes 
the necessity of learning. You may occasionally 
hear an ignorant man, in some religious gathering, 
praising the Divine Being that he is not hampered 
with this world's learning — that " wisdom of men which 
is foolishness with God." The most satisfactory re- 
ply that can be made to such ranting was given by 
Dr. Johnson years ago. To one who was thus thank- 
ing God for his ignorance, the Doctor retorted, " Then, 
sir, you have a great deal to be thankful for ! " It is 
safe to say that the aid of the Spirit was never in- 
tended to foster human ignorance or laziness. The 
greater our scholarship, other things being equal, the 
more readily shall we get at the meaning of the in- 
spired word. God helps us in interpreting the Bible, 
just as He helps us in growing crops ; but in both 
cases He evidently insists upon our doing all that we 
can for ourselves. 

We need some intelligent plan of study to enable 



THE BIBLE. 585 

us to get at the exact meaning of the sacred writers. 
And for this nothing is to be compared with a careful, 
laborious, and time-absorbing examination of one 
book at a time. If you were studying Shakespeare, 
you would take one of the plays and go through with 
it before beginning another. Why not adopt a similar 
method in studying the Scriptures ? You take up 
an epistle of Paul, for example, and a great many in- 
troductory questions meet you at once. What are 
the proofs of the Pauline authorship of this epistle ? 
What is the character of the author, his personal pe- 
culiarities, his style, his distinctive ways of thinking 
and speaking ? Who are the people to whom this let- 
ter is addressed, and what are the circumstances that 
caused it to be written ? What results did the Apostle 
propose to realize by means of it? What is the 
main theme of the epistle ; how is this theme handled ; 
and into what subdivisions does the thought naturally 
fall ? After you have made this preliminary investi- 
gation, there should come a careful study of the book 
itself, not simply verse by verse, but even word by word. 
In this study, the work that has been done by 
Christian scholars in the past will be found immensely 
helpful. There is a considerable prejudice against 
commentators, for which the commentators themselves 
are partly to blame. Crabbe reflected the popular 
idea when he wrote : 

" Oh ! rather give me commentators plain, 
Who with no deep researches vex the brain, 
Who from the dark and doubtful love to run, 
And hold their glimmering tapers to the sun." 



586 BE A TEN PA THS. 

But Biblical science has made considerable progress 
since Crabbe's day, and Biblical scholars are now hold- 
ing up a well constructed telescope, instead of a "glim- 
mering taper " to the sun. There are many carefully 
prepared popular works that shed a vast amount of 
light on the Scriptures. To attempt the study of the 
Bible without these aids, is like attempting Astronomy 
without a telescope. No doubt, much profit may be 
derived even thus ; but in this short life of ours, it does 
not pay to adopt any method save that which will 
yield the greatest amount of profit with the least ex- 
penditure of time. 

As you read the Bible in this careful manner, you 
will come across passages that impress you as exceed- 
ingly apt or beautiful, passages in which lofty and in- 
spiring thought is put into such appropriate form that 
they are worthy of a lasting place in the memory. It 
will not be amiss for you to read and re-read these 
selections until you can repeat them by rote. The 
twenty-third Psalm, the majority of Christ's sayings,, 
and the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians afford 
examples of what I mean. John Ruskin, who has won 
a foremost position among the writers of English 
prose, was compelled in his youth not only to read 
the entire Bible through once a year, but also to learn 
long chapters of it by heart ; and he confesses: "Ta 
that discipline I owe, not only a knowledge of the 
book, but much of my general power of taking pains, 
and the best part of my taste in literature." Daniel 
Webster, when a boy, was encouraged to read and 
memorize the Bible ; and in time his mind became 



THE BIBLE. 587 

pervaded with its lofty spirit and imagery to such an 
extent that his public utterances took on that majestic 
rhythm which he had caught from Hebrew psalmists 
and prophets. If one's aim is simply intellectual cul- 
ture, he could choose no better work for his constant 
companion than our English translation of the Bible. 
But the Bible itself indicates a profit of a higher 
kind that is to be derived from its pages. Paul writes 
to Timothy, " Every Scripture inspired of God is 
also profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correc- 
tion, for instruction which is in righteousness : that the 
man of God may be complete, furnished completely 
unto every good work." It is this ethical and spirit- 
ual culture, more especially, that the Scriptures are 
designed to promote. As we read them, we are lifted 
into a lofty range of thought that has not its counter- 
part anywhere in the Literature of the world. The 
Bible cannot be regarded as an outgrowth of the life 
and aspiration of the race. It emphasizes realities 
that, in the struggle and tumult of the world, the race 
is likely to overlook. It looks upon life, death, and 
the hereafter as men in general are not accustomed 
to regard these things. It is a mighty book of faith, 
laying hold upon things invisible. Its point of obser- 
vation is the eternal throne. Time shrinks beneath 
its contemplation, and the ambitions, struggles, and 
successes of the world are dwarfed till they appear 
contemptible. There is a spirit that pervades this 
volume, which can be likened only to the Spirit of 
God. Amidst all kinds of opposition, amidst sights 
evil and unexpected, it is never startled or impatient. 



588 BE A TEN PA THS. 

It carries with it the peace of eternity. While mon- 
archs perish and empires fall, while saints are over- 
thrown and wrong seems to gain the day, while reform 
calls in vain for a hearing and the wise predict no- 
thing but ruin, the divine current continues on its 
course, silent, steadfast, and serene. From the con- 
templation of the Bible, we rise satisfied, strength- 
ened, and refreshed, feeling that, after all, the deepest 
realities in life belong to the world of things unseen, 
and that there is something within our very grasp 
dearer than wealth, pleasure, or renown. The Bible 
quickens devotion, sanctifies affliction, sustains moral- 
ity, and equips the man of God for all good works. 
To attempt understanding the Scriptures without 
the aid of the Divine Spirit, is like attempting to un- 
derstand a guide-book, while willfully refusing to notice 
anything of the country to which the book refers. 
" He who knows only the print and the type of the 
book," says Henry Ward Beecher, "knows only a 
painted sun." The Spirit is the verification of the 
letter, the ever present reality that attests the truth of 
the description. To know God we must not only read 
about Him, but we must also come into contact and 
communion with Him. And to those who thus open 
their minds to the promptings of the Spirit, the Bible 
becomes replete with a wisdom higher than the wis- 
dom of men, and discloses its divine character. "How 
do you know that there is a God ? " an Arab was once 
asked by a skeptic. "How do I know that a camel 
passed my tent last night?" retorted the Arab. "Be- 
cause I see his tracks in the sand." Then pointing to 



THE BIBLE. 589 

the setting sun, he continued, " Look there ! That is 
not the work of man ; that is the track of God ! " He 
that reads the Bible with an intelligent, an unbiassed, 
and a spiritual mind, beholds in it such heavenly 
beauty and power as cannot be accounted for on the 
theory of its purely human origin. The mind of man 
cannot have originated it; it imperatively demands 
God for its author. The strongest argument for the 
inspiration of the Scriptures is the Scriptures them- 
selves. 

" A glory gilds the sacred page, 
Majestic like the sun ; 
It gives a light to every age ; 
It gives, but borrows none." 

O thou mighty word of God ! Time that buries all 
the works of men beneath its drift, only brings thee into 
increasing prominence. The world's thinkers become 
outgrown, and their names stand but as landmarks 
of the progress of thought ; but thou abidest in 
eternal youth, and thy message will be as new to-mor- 
row as when David of old found thee more glorious 
than the firmament and brighter than the sun. Thou 
dost lead on the march of ages, undisturbed by the 
assaults of men, unweakened with the lapse of years. 
In the generations, to come, thou wilt remain the 
counsellor, the comforter, and the dying pillow of the 
race ; nor shall we cease to need thy grace, till we 
enter that goodly land of which thou speakest, and 
behold the King in His beauty, and have sight of 
those glorious realities which are the theme of thy 
discourse and the secret of thy power. 



XXVI. 
RELIGION. 



Vw 



" Either we have an immortal Soul, or we have not. If we have not, 
we are Beasts ; the first and wisest of Beasts, it may be ; but still true 
Beasts." 

— Coleridge. 

1 ' Speak to Him thou for He hears, and Spirit with 
Spirit can meet — 
Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than 
hands and feet." 

— Tennyson. 

" The older I grow — and now I stand on the brink of eternity — the 
more comes back to me that sentence in the Catechism which I learned 
when a child, and the fuller and deeper its meaning becomes, ' What is 
the chief end of man ? To glorify God and enjoy Him forever.' " 

— Carlyle 

HE greatest question of specula- 
tive philosophy, as also the 
greatest question of practical 
life, is, Is there a God ? From 
the beginning of time men have 
without hesitation answered 
this question in the affirmative. 
Far back in the misty dawn of history, man presents 
himself as a religious being, and in the stillness of the 
primeval woods offers prayer to Him who is invisible. 
This beino- who has been cradled and nursed by 
nature — this creature whose senses refuse to give him 





THE SISTINE MADONNA. 



RELIGION. 593 

knowledge of anything but the physical world, instinc- 
tively pierces the walls of his material prison-house, 
and falls prostrate in the presence of the supernatural. 

The most striking phenomenon in human life is this 
spontaneous and universal belief in a supernatural 
power. Long before any argument is constructed to 
establish the existence of the Deity ; before the mind 
begins to travel back along the line of causation, or 
brings together the evidences of design that the physi- 
cal universe exhibits ; without research, without argu- 
ment, without apology, man believes in God. His 
ideas of the supernatural may be crude, childish, 
superstitious ; but the fact remains that he has these 
ideas, and believes there is a supernatural power to 
which he stands related. Nobody has told him there 
is a God ; he has neither seen nor heard God ; he has 
constructed no argument to prove that there is a God; 
and yet he believes. 

When we ask why man thus believed, the only 
adequate answer is, God was so present to him that 
he could not help believing. Belief in his supernatural 
environment was as spontaneous and irresistible as 
belief in his natural environment. Man believed in 
the existence of an objective physical world, because 
the physical world was there around him; man believed 
in 'the existence of a supernatural power because that 
power was there about him. " In Him," says the Apostle 
Paul, "we live and move and have our being." As we 
have organs for apprehending the physical world, so 
we have a faculty, or faculties, by which we apprehend 
the supernatural. Through the feelings or sensations 



594 BEA TEN PA THS > 

furnished by the physical senses we get our know- 
ledge of nature ; and through the feelings furnished by 
the religious sensibility we get our knowledge of God. 
Sight and hearing and touch cannot give us the idea 
of God ; for " spiritual things must be spiritually dis- 
cerned." But there are in the soul faculties other 
than the senses, by which the divine reality may be 
known. 

There is, for example, the feeling of dependence, 
which is as common to all men as sensations of« sight, 
of sound, or of touch. Man feels that he is a depend- 
ent being. The sense of his finiteness is borne in 
upon him. A moment ago I was not ; a moment 
hence I may be here no more. I have not the ability 
to add a single cubit to my stature. For life, for 
thought, for individuality, I depend upon a Power 
other than myself. I cannot take the initiative in 
shaping my own course, but must wait a tidal energy 
that comes from the shores of the mysterious sea. 
As man gets the knowledge of his own existence, he 
feels himself held aloft above the abyss of nothing- 
ness as by an almighty hand. If I could actually feel 
and see the hand of the Almighty holding me safe 
above some dark and dangerous abyss, my sense of 
dependence might be momentarily more intense, 
but it would not be different in kind from what it is 
now. Out of this feeling of dependence arises a be- 
lief in the reality of the supernatural. Man cannot, 
shake himself free from the conviction that there is a 
power other than nature on which he is dependent. 
Give your nature a chance to work, and it spon- 



RELIGION. 595 

taneously runs toward belief in God. Even Voltaire, 
schooled as he was in the deepest scepticism of his 
sceptical age, on seeing a terrific thunder-storm in the 
Alps, is said to have fallen down in awe and prayer, 
although the next moment he recovered himself, rose 
to his feet, and began to curse. 

Through the feelings of our moral nature, also, we 
get valid knowledge of God. The moral law is pro- 
claimed in the soul as a law having authority. It is 
imperative. In commands obedience at all costs. It 
does not hesitate to override all the maxims of pru- 
dence that we may have learned in our converse with 
the lower world. Its commands involve the renunci- 
ation of the interests of the natural man to such an 
extent that the soul instinctively feels this law does 
not and cannot come from nature. If not from nature, 
whence comes it ? What power is this, that in the depths 
of my conscious life proclaims a law that wars against 
the law of my members? What power is this, that 
speaks with authority and stirs up within me a feeling 
of obligation? If the King of Heaven were to appear 
to me in visible form, and amidst clouds and thunders 
were to hand me the law written out upon tables of 
stelae, commanding me to obey it at the peril of my 
life, my feeling of obligation would not be other than 
it is. God gives as valid evidence of His being in the 
Sinai of every man's conscience as in the Sinai of the 
Old Testament. When you feel the obligation of the 
moral law, you feel the authority of the moral law- 
giver. The law of duty utters itself in such a way as to 
make us feel that it is not our law, not nature's law, 

35 



596 BE A TEN PA THS. 

but the law of a power unseen, " a power, not ourselves, 
that works for righteousness." 

To illustrate, let us suppose that you are now read- 
ing in a crowded room ; and the question is put to 
you, How do you know that you are reading in the 
presence of others? Because every sensation is to 
that effect. You see them and hear them. You 
know that you are in the presence of several individu- 
als, because you feel as if you were, and because 
you cannot divest yourself of the sensations that are 
comprised in this feeling. In the same manner, when 
the moral law comes to you, you know that you stand 
in the presence of a power supernatural, because you 
feel as if you do and cannot divest yourself of that 
feeling. You can no more explain your moral feel- 
ing without positing the presence of God, than you 
can explain your physical sensations without positing 
the presence of the people who are there in the room 
in which you happen to be sitting. 

And, in like manner, when we obey the moral law, 
the feelings that arise within the soul make us con- 
scious of God. When I do that which is right, at cost 
to myself, I feel that I have the approbation of that 
Being who has disclosed His law through conscience. 
The feeling is too august for me to confound it with 
any personal self-congratulation. It humbles me 
rather. It seems to originate from some source out- 
side of my own individuality. It belongs to that 
elemental Being in whom I have my very existence. 
When I make sacrifices to do that which is right, I 
feel as if I heard the voice of the Eternal saying, 



RELIGION. 597 

"Well done, good and faithful servant ! " Now, that 
inward feeling gives as unmistakable evidence of the 
presence of God, as if it were produced by some 
audible voice speaking from a cloud. 

And when men transgress the moral law uttered in 
conscience, the feeling of unrest and guilt that takes 
hold upon them is an evidence of that unseen Pres- 
ence in whom they live and move and have their be- 
ing. The instant I disobey the moral law, I feel that 
I am out of harmony with that in which I live. It is 
not the natural world with which I am thrown out of 
adjustment. It is rather that which is above and be- 
hind the natural world, — that which no eye of man 
has ever beheld. I feel myself to be in the hands of 
a Being whose just and holy law I have transgressed. 
My feeling is the same as what I should entertain if 
the Eternal, with visible tokens of wrath, were to 
seize me and hold me, a trembling prisoner, as with 
a grip of iron. No wave-swept boat in the midst of 
the stormy sea is more perturbed than is the soul that, 
by its own transgression, is thrown out of harmony 
with its spiritual environment. The feeling " will not 
down." There is no escaping from it. Hence Mil- 
ton's Satan cries, 

" Which way shall I fly- 
Infinite wrath and infinite despair ? 
Which way I fly is hell ; myself am hell ; 
And in the lowest deep, a lower deep, 
Still threat'ning to devour me, opens wide, 
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven." 

" Myself am hell ! " Have the poets ever written 



598 BE A TEN PA THS. 

anything more profound than that? Hell does not 
consist in being away from God. Hell consists in be- 
ing compelled to remain with a God whose law has 
been violated. 

Here, then, we have this feeling of dependence and 
these feelings of the moral nature, through which there 
comes to man the knowledge that there is something 
above and behind this natural world, something as 
real as the physical universe itself. When scepticism 
comes to that stage where it can deny our knowledge 
of an external physical universe, it is not to be won- 
dered at that it can equally deny the soul's knowledge 
of God. Scepticism is an afterthought of the race. It 
never occurred to the minds of our forefathers to 
doubt the existence of either God or matter. 

Now, it is this knowledge of God, vague, indefinite,, 
elusive, but yet real, which from the beginning of his- 
tory has been the fertile spring of all religion. From 
the beginning, man has realized that he belongs to a 
kingdom higher than nature, and that he owes alle- 
giance to an invisible king. But with the development 
of the philosophical spirit there necessarily came many 
questions to which men could not return a satisfactory 
answer. The light of nature and of reason was in 
time found insufficient for the practical necessities of 
life. Man could not shake himself free from the be- 
lief that the supernatural was there all around him ; 
but the supernatural did not lend itself to such com- 
plete and easy examination as might be made of the 
natural world. The fact of the divine existence was- 
irresistibly borne in upon him, but the essential nature 



RELIGION. 599 

of God remained an enigma. The longing for a rev- 
elation deepened with the progress of enquiry, and 
with man's experience of the mysteries and vicissitudes 
of life. Away back in the history of the Hebrew peo- 
ple there is told the story of one who, wrestling with 
a mighty and mysterious personage through the 
watches of the night, cried in the travail of his soul, 
" Tell me, I pray thee, thy name ! " Jacob's prayer was 
for that name which should reveal the essential nature 
of his mysterious visitant. But this wrestling Jacob is 
only a type of that universal heart of humanity, which 
through all the ages has been struggling with a mighty 
and inscrutable presence, and which, in its travail, its 
pain, its overwhelming sense of mystery, has kept cry- 
ing with unutterable pathos, " Tell me, I pray thee, thy 
name ! " The cry of the ages is for a revelation of 
the essential nature of Him who, from the beginning 
of the race, has witnessed in every heart and conscience 
that man is environed with something other than the 
material. , T elpless as a babe, in darkness and doubt, 
in sin and guilt, in fear and awe, struggling with the 
awful mystery that encompassed it, the heart of man 
has kept crying out with unutterable yearning for a 
revelation from on high. 

Now if there is a God above us, around us, within 
us — a God worthy of our worship, — do you suppose 
He can or will be deaf forever to this passionate en- 
treaty of the race ? If there is a God whose move- 
ment upon the soul of man has given birth to this 
very petition, can you believe that He will provoke 
the prayer and withhold the answer ? Shall that God 



600 BE A TEN PA THS. 

who provides food for our hunger and water for our 
thirst, fail to satisfy this hunger and thirst of the soul 
for a revelation from on high ? Shall that God who 
provides for the lowest want of the meanest of His 
creatures, make no provision for satisfying this deep- 
est yearning of the noblest being that He has placed 
upon the earth ? I cannot believe it. Every analogy 
of nature, every instinct of the higher life declares 
that God will make some revelation of Himself in 
answer to this prolonged entreaty. I am prepared to 
believe that those wrestling Jacobs who through the 
long watches of the darkness have kept crying out for 
the Divine name, will receive a revelation of the very 
nature of God, grander than they have asked. 

As I go back through the long centuries and try to 
imagine what must have been the mental state of 
those whose restless yearning found no satisfaction in 
things temporal, I am prepared to believe that "when 
the fulness of the times" has come, when the world 
has " thought itself hungry " for God, Lnat hunger 
will be satisfied. And as to the succeeding years, my 
principal question is, Where is to be found that 
authoritative revelation of Himself, which the Divine 
Being must have made in answer to this need ? 

I find it in the gospel of Jesus Christ — that gospel 
which for eighteen centuries has given demonstration 
of its truth, its beauty, and its power. It does not 
perplex me to find the promulgation of this gospel 
accompanied at first by those miraculous signs which 
an unenlightened spiritual age would naturally expect 
and demand as the credentials of its supernatural 



RELIGION. 60 1 

origin and authority. Even to-day this miraculous 
element furnishes evidence of a certain kind ; it can- 
not be eliminated from the record without destroying 
the entire historic framework of Christianity. But at 
the same time, the principal evidence for Christianity 
is Christianity itself. It gives a revelation of man and 
his relations to the supernatural, that satisfies the 
heart and becomes more and more approved with 
our growing experience of the world. 

The revelation of Christianity starts at the point 
where the consciousness of sin and guilt becomes de- 
veloped. It proclaims in the most unsparing way the 
fact that man is a sinner. It ascribes the greater part 
of the evils of life to a sinful heart, and holds forth to 
the persistent sinner no future save of ruin. It gives 
such an uncompromising picture of the sinfulness of 
the world as to stir up opposition and antagonism. 
Not until the facts are fairly faced and scrutinized by 
one whose moral insight is more than ordinarily keen 
and cultured, are the views of Christianity found to be 
correct. It is only in our highest ethical moments 
that we begin to approximate its feeling toward 
sin. 

Thus, the manner in which this revelation shows up 
the radical evil in human nature, is significant. To 
know that Christianity is divine, you have simply to 
see how it is affected by human sinfulness. No school 
of ethical thinkers has ever begun to expose the loath- 
someness, the iniquity, the utter hopelessness of sin, 
with the positiveness and definiteness of Christ and 
Hi-s apostles. The purest spirit that this world has 



6o 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

ever seen has never suffered such recoil at the sight of 
iniquity. Study the teachings of Christianity, and it 
will assuredly seem to you that some nobler soul than 
was ever originated among men is looking down into 
the depths of human depravity, and is shrinking back 
aghast at the awful sight. 

Yet how magnificently Christianity presents human 
nature, notwithstanding its sin and defection. Man 
has sinned, but he is no paltry, petty creature, for all 
that. He has a dignity even in his ruins. He is not 
the victim of fate or the sport of nature. He is essen- 
tially a king — a king who has lost his crown, to be 
sure, and missed his highest calling — but a king, nev- 
ertheless, by birth and prerogative. In the conscious 
exercise of his manhood's powers he has sinned and 
fallen, and he can be restored only by true manly con- 
fession and amendment. 

The materialistic science of to-day which rules God 
from the universe, and searches the physical side of 
human nature to the exclusion of its deeper and more 
significant features, gives to the race a character of 
universal babyhood. Nature is queen ; man is a 
little child, dandled in the queenly arms or cuffed by 
the queenly hand. Sin is represented as a bog into 
which the senseless baby has fallen, and from which 
nature will extricate him in time, the priests to the 
contrary notwithstanding. But while modern materi- 
alism preaches a universal babyhood, Jesus Christ 
true to the spiritual side of our humanity, proclaims 
the manhood of the race. 

This view of human nature gives a basis for practi- 



RELIGION. 603 



cal enthusiasm. Christianity sees a possible Christ 
in every fallen son of Adam. He that retains the di- 
vine faculties of reason and freedom may grow again 
like God. Where men would turn aside in disgust or 
despair from the poor, the weak, the erring, Christian- 
ity rushes forward with intense and hopeful enthu- 
siasm, and would fain lift the lowest into the knowledge 
and kingdom of God. The measure of life that such 
beings may attain knows no bounds. It carries with 
it the possibilities of endless growth, and comes into 
new knowledge, new ability, and new happiness at 
every stage. 

Ask yourself what you are worth simply as a hu- 
man being, and no science, no philosophy, no litera- 
ture, not even the wildest vagary that the most unre- 
gulated imagination has ever entertained, can begin to 
place that premium upon human nature which is 
accorded it in the teachings of the Gospel. Chris- 
tianity declares that we are held of so much worth in 
the counsels of Heaven, that God may, in consonance 
with His infinite wisdom, give his only begotten Son 
to die for us. Christianity makes the circuit of the 
whole universe, and singling out that dearest thing 
which the heaven of heavens contains, the life of the 
only begotten Son of God, cries, There, O man, that 
is the measure of thy worth ; that is the price at which 
thou art rated in the councils of the Infinite ! 

Did ever man speak like this ? Could man speak 
thus? Look at all the estimates of human nature 
that are advanced to-day, and surely you will have no 
difficulty in discriminating the divine. Christianity 



604 BE A TEN PA THS. 

looks at human nature as only God Himself can 
regard it. 

In like manner, Christianity gives a revelation of 
God which more than equals, in fulness and inspira- 
tion, its views concerning man. It furnishes such a 
declaration of the interior disposition of Deity, that_ 
nineteen centuries have not more than begun to 
fathom the depth of its disclosure. Beside the anx- 
ious questioning, the groping and searching, the 
guesses and dreams of to-day, towers that priceless 
and absorbing revelation of God in Christ. He that 
sees God in the light of the cross, has that before 
which the noblest speculations of the human intellect 
fade away, as the stars die out before the sun. 

When Christianity would describe the character of 
the Eternal, it begins, " God so loved." The height, 
the depth, the length, the breadth, the all-in-all of 
ethical character is love. Love gives to labor its dig- 
nity, and to patriotism its honor, and to daring its 
high reward. Love kindles the hearth of home into 
a heavenly and benignant flame. Love communicates 
to sacrifice a value that cannot be expressed in the 
price-lists of the markets. Love figures as the divine 
element in every hero, martyr, saint, whose name is 
written in the honor-roll of time. He that loves most 
is noblest. God so loved. Take that quality of love, 
and reach out and up to the thought of the infinite,- 
the eternal, the changeless, the exhaustless love, and 
you get the Christian conception of God. It is not 
simply that God has love : He is love. 

The cross of Christ reveals both the righteousness 



RELIGION. 605 

and the benevolence of Divine love. The Divine Be- 
ing is something more than simple good-nature. He 
will not break down the eternal distinctions of moral- 
ity, in the effort to make His children happy. The 
love of God is a righteous love. It commands respect 
because of its inflexible holiness. In offering free 
pardon to the world, the Divine Being maintains the 
integrity of His ethical personality. The law of 
righteousness is honored ; the ideal of holiness is ful- 
filled ; and yet, mystery of mysteries, pardon, full, 
free, and eternal, is offered to every repentant sinner ! 
Do you ask what stress God places on righteousness ? 
The cross of Christ is the answer. Do you enquire 
the strength of the Divine benevolence ? The cross 
is the expression of it. The gift of the only begotten 
Son represents the absolutely highest value ; in the 
effort to reach higher, human imagination becomes 
an utter blank. You cannot think of anything dearer. 
When I learn of the Divine Being that He maintains 
His righteousness at this costliest expense, and yet 
that He makes this expenditure for the sake of sinful 
men, I reach the highest ethical thought of God 
which it is possible for a rational intelligence to en- 
tertain. That thought will be developed in all com- 
ing generations, but it will never be outgrown. The 
last song of the redeemed will be of the Lamb who 
was slain. 

So, likewise, we may dwell for a moment upon that 
presentation which Christianity makes of the system 
in which man and God are found together. In other 
words, How is God related to the world, and how is 



■6o6 BE A TEN PA THS. 

man related to it ? Now, in the progress of human 
thought, there have been two systems of religious 
speculation, each having its own peculiar attraction, 
Deism and Pantheism. The special attraction of 
Deism is found in the emphasis which it lays upon the 
Divine transcendence. God is represented as super- 
ior to the world, as above it, as separate from it. 
After it is created, His concern with it ceases and He 
withdraws Himself, permitting it to work out its own 
destiny without guidance or interference. For the 
severely logical mind, for the mind that loves clear 
distinctions and dislikes mystery, for the mind that is 
but little open to its obscurer spiritual environment, 
this system of thought has a peculiar fascination. 

But there is a mind of another kind, to which Pan- 
theism makes strong appeal. Pantheism is the sys- 
tem of religion which acknowledges but one universal 
substance. The all is God. The divine substance 
first breaks into personality in man. Rising and sub- 
siding, forever in motion, forever changing its appear- 
ance to man, it is nevertheless the one and only sub- 
stance, that is, God. Thus Pantheism emphasizes the 
Divine immanence at the expense of everything else. 
It immerses God in the world until it fairly drowns 
Him. But that very emphasis which it places upon 
the Divine immanence gives it its power. 

Deism was so intent on emphasizing the Divine 
transcendence that it put God outside of the world 
altogether ; Pantheism is so intent on emphasizing 
the Divine immanance that it buries God in the world; 
but Christianity gives an equal emphasis to both 



RELIGION. 607 

these phases of the Divine existence. God is above 
the world, and yet controls it. He is in the world, 
but is not absorbed by it. He has a conscious per- 
sonality of His own, from which the personality of 
man is distinct ; but at the same time, no soul exists 
independent of Him. Not a sparrow can fall to the 
ground without Him. Not a man but must live and 
move and have his being in Him. He is in all and 
over all. 

As to man's relations to the world, Christianity 
teaches that he is above all material things, that he is 
of more value than many sparrows, that he lives under 
no law of inevitable necessity, but is a free agent re- 
sponsible for all his acts. The world is governed and 
guided with reference to him. The final cause of all 
physical phenomena is that man shall be influenced.. 
Those who are in Christ stand in a right adjustment 
toward the universe, and all things work together for 
their good ; but those who are out of Christ are en- 
dangered by whatsoever comes to pass. 

Looking now from the teachings to the practical 
effects of the Christian religion, we note how Chris- 
tianity has come down through the centuries with in- 
creasing manifestation of power and glory. Its tri- 
umphs are written in the history of the world. Like a 
river from the throne of God, its course has been 
marked by peace and blessing. Righteousness and 
love have been fostered by it ; patience and hope 
have grown under its ministrations. Through the 
long years it has been foremost in reform. Civiliza- 
tion has received its impress ; art and literature have 



608 BE A TEN PA THS. 

borrowed from it their noblest conceptions ; oratory 
and music have grown apace beneath its fostering 
hand. It has proved the patron of education, the up- 
lifter of woman, and the champion of the slave. It 
carries within itself the solution of the most pressing 
problems of modern society. 

To-day from millions of hearts praises are being 
sung to the name of the Redeemer, and Christianity 
has organization, power, wealth, and standing. It 
was not always thus. When the story of the cross 
began to be proclaimed in the centres of the Roman 
Empire, everything was apparently against it. The 
preaching of Christianity was at first the story of a 
single short career, told by simple and unlettered men. 
Its hero had suffered death as the vilest of criminals. 
Its philosophy and teaching were repugnant to the 
spirit of the age. Its disciples were numbered only 
by twos and threes, and were taken almost exclusively 
from the lower ranks of the people. It was heralded 
with no pompous display, and enforced by no power of 
arms. It had neither wealth nor culture to give it 
backing. It discarded every element of extraneous 
power. It had to cleave its way through worldliness, 
sensuality, and scepticism. It was scoffed at, maligned, 
and persecuted unto death. And yet by the simple force 
of the truth that is in it, it has come down the centu- 
ries conquering and to conquer. Certainly if there is 
any truth in the law of the survival of the fittest, the 
very existence of Christianity to-day is a proof of the 
intrinsic excellence of that old, old story of the cross, 
by the preaching of which its conquests have been won. 



RELIGION. 609 

With nineteen centuries bearing witness to the truth 
of its story, who can doubt that it is what the Apostle 
Paul declared it to be, " the power of God unto salva- 
tion?" It is of God, rather than of men. It is a re- 
velation from on high, rather than a creation of the 
untutored religious instincts of the race. When I can 
believe that this ordered universe came by chance ; 
when I can believe that Homer's epic and Shake- 
speare's dramas were wrought by the blind forces of 
nature, then, but not till then, can I suppose that this 
religion, so unique, so grand, so comprehensive, so 
perfectly adjusted to the deepest yet least discerned 
needs of the soul, — that this religion was fabricated 
by the blind religious instincts of superstitious and 
half-educated apostles. The gospel of Christ gives 
unmistakable evidence of its divine origin and 
power. 

And hence our responsibility toward it is a respon- 
sibility toward God Himself. Christianity is God's 
message to you : how will you receive it ? The only 
adequate reception you can accord it, is to obey it. 
Faith in Christianity is such a trust in the Redeemer 
as issues in obedience to His commands. He that 
exercises this faith has the witness in his heart that he 
is doing the right and wise thing, and enters immedi- 
ately on the noblest life that any human being can 
live. If you have any question in your mind as to 
whether it will pay you to enter on the religious life, 
let me assure you that this is the only life worth liv- 
ing. The only life that is at all distinctive or worthy 
of a man, is that which feeds upon the supernatural. 



6 1 BE A TEN PA THS. 

He that misses this life, misses his calling in this lower 
world. Never does man appear so august, so manly, 
as when he finds his way into the presence of the In- 
finite, and communes with Him who is King of kings 
and Lord of lords. Thought, pleasure, and work are 
never so grand as when they are associated with the 
name of the Almighty. 

Yet how few there are that rise into this highest 
range of living ! " Narrow is the gate, and straitened 
the way, that leadeth unto life, and few be they 
that find it." Society is built up like a mountain : it 
is broadest at the base. Men are all animals, eating, 
drinking, sleeping, dying, making constant provision 
for the needs and gratification of the body. These 
interests, incentives, and ambitions are common to the 
race. To some they constitute the entire round of 
living. In this little one-roomed hut of the physical, 
the great crowd seems content to abide. 

But there is a class that reaches up to something 
higher than this. There is a class to which the mind 
as well as the body furnishes the law of living. There 
are men and women who aspire to realize themselves 
intellectually as well as physically. They read, they 
think, they paint or sing, they write and converse. 
They live not simply a physical life, but a mental life 
also. 

Above this rises another and smaller class, com- 
posed of individuals who add to their lives those in- 
terests and endeavors represented by the word duty. 
They desire to realize themselves not simply physi- 
cally and intellectually, but also morally. They would 



RELIGION. 6ll 

live not only by the light of the sun and the light of 
the mind, but also by the light of conscience. To 
them are opened up three great departments of living, 
the physical, the intellectual, and the moral. 

But highest and noblest of all is the life that adds re- 
ligion to ethics, and thus enables its possessor to par- 
take in the enjoyments and occupations of heaven, 
as well as in those of earth. He that has religion, 
has everything that man can have. He stands upon 
the summit of society ; above him there is nothing but 
heaven. His life runs through the whole scale of hu- 
man pleasures and employments. He is an animal 
like the lowest of his kind ; he is a living intelligence 
whose interests are substantially those of the philoso- 
pher, the artist, and the poet ; he is an ethical person- 
ality, acknowledging the law of righteousness, and 
drinking in delight from the smiles of conscience ; but 
more than all, he is a child of God, to whom the 
heavens are opened and upon whom the Spirit de- 
scends in benedictory baptism. 

O, the infinite richness, beauty, and grandeur of 
the religious life ! Never does man rise to the highest 
point in the scale of being until he brings his life, a 
consecrated offering, and lays it upon the altar of 
God. Never does man know what joy means, until he 
casts himself upon the untried sea of God's being 
and finds that he is upheld. Never does labor take 
on its true dignity, until with conscious purpose it is 
wrought to the glory of Him who is King of kings 
and Lord of lords. Noble was he whose patient re- 
solution, forcing its way against scoffs, and doubts, and 

36 



6 I 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

hopes deferred, made a path across the vast Atlantic, 
to find on this farther side a mighty continent carrying 
the future in its majestic arms. Noble is he who, with 
the appliances of science, looks down into the secret 
beginnings of life, or throwing aside the curtains of 
the firmament, reads off the very elements of those 
stars which for ages have flung their waves of light 
across the infinite spaces. But if these are to be 
ranked among the noblest triumphs of the human 
mind, what are they to that supreme act in which the 
conscious spirit, reaching down to the very centres of 
its being, or reaching out beyond the continents, 
across the spaces, behind the stars, finds the Secret of 
secrets, and falls prostrate in the presence of Him 
who dwells in the light unapproachable, crying in awe 
like Thomas of old, "My Lord and my God!" lie 
who has stood in this holy of holies, silent, thrilled, 
adoring, stripped of transient cares and joys, and 
conscious only of the infinite glory which streams 
through and through the soul, — he alone knows what it 
means to live. 




GRANDMOTHER'S FAVORITE. 



XXVII. 
OLD AGE. 



" Sunset and evening star, 

And one clear call for me ! 
And may there be no moaning of the bar, 
When I put out to sea, 

" But such a tide as moving seems asleep, 
Too full for sound and foam, 
When that which drew from out the boundless deep 
Turns again home. 

" Twilight and evening bell, 
And after that the dark ! 
And may there be no sadness of farewell, 
When I embark ; 

" For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place 
The floods may bear me far, 
I hope to see my Pilot face to face, 
When I have crossed the bar." 

— Tennyson. 

OU and I are growing old. We 
may as well face the fact now as 
at any time. We are growing 
old, and we cannot help it. We 
have no power, no wisdom, no 
device that can prevent the years 
from stealing upon us. Time 
works its transmutations so steadily and irresistibly, 
that it is easier to tell a man's age than to infer his 
nationality, his business, or his station. Body, mind, 




6 1 6 BE A TEN PA THS. 

and character are all changing- under its influence. 

For this reason, we cannot repress a smile at the 
devices to which men and women resort in the effort 
to conceal from themselves and the world the fact that 
they are growing old. In vain does old age attempt 
to masquerade in the garments of youth. The paint, 
powder, pads, and wigs that would effect a complete 
transformation before the footlights, constitute but a 
sorry disguise in the searching light of day. In vain 
does the merry gentleman of fifty strive to blind the 
eyes of the world by leaping high fences and protest- 
ing that he is not old, not a bit of it — just as spry as 
ever he was. When the first gray hairs appeared at 
twenty-five he exhibited them with pride, and began 
to think of running for an alderman. But now the 
gray hairs are not to be seen. Some of them have 
fallen off, and others have changed color — under 
judicious treatment — and grown black once more. In 
vain does the anxious maiden of forty dance, dress, 
play tennis, and attempt to enter with a zest into the 
sports of those who are twenty years her juniors. 
The world sees easily through the thin disguise. 

Think of Miss Flora McFlimsy, with her elaborate 
toilets, her pumped-up enthusiasms, and her kittenish 
airs, striving to palm off five-and-thirty as only 
twenty-one. Think of Charles Dickens making sport 
of his years by teaching his grandchildren to call him 
" Venerables " instead of Grandfather. Think of testy 
old Dr. Johnson, tottering on the very verge of the 
grave, and repelling every allusion to his feebleness 
as if it were a personal insult. " Ah, Doctor," said 



OLD AGE. 617 

some one who wished to be agreeable, " I see the glow 
of health returning to your cheek." " God bless you, 
sir," exclaimed the gratified old man, grasping him 
warmly by the hand, " you are the kindest friend I 
ever had." Think of that Boston woman who wished 
to vote, but refused to register, because she would 
have been obliged to reveal her age. 

" What is your age ?" enquired the clerk. 

" Over twenty-one." 

" That will not do here," was the reply. " If you wish 
to register, you will have to tell your age." 

"Sir," retorted the lady, " if I am to be insulted in 
that way, I will not vote." And, like Naaman of old, 
she " went away in a rage." 

Such cases as these suggest the enquiry, whether old 
age is, after all, so great an evil as the world sup- 
poses. After a man has once reached his prime, is it 
the law of life that he shall go on from year to year, 
giving up of the things he prizes most and receiving 
nothing in return ? Is there not rather a law of com- 
pensation running through life, which brings some- 
thing, by way of requital, to him who is compelled by 
time to surrender what he fain would keep ? I do 
not ask whether these compensations are experienced 
by all who are growing old ; but are they not ex- 
perienced by all who are growing old in the normal 
way ? 

There is, of course, an abnormal kind of old age, 
that draws little satisfaction from the past and little 
hope from the future, and that consequently relin- 
quishes every fragment of time with a pang of regret. 



6 1 8 BE A TEN PA THS. 

There is an old age that sits mourning amidst the 
ashes of extinct passions, embittered, hopeless, and 
desolate — an old age on which the follies and vices 
of a misspent life descend like furies for torment. 
But the picture of old age that fills our minds — the 
type by which this latter period of life is to be judged 
— is attractive rather than forbidding. We think of 
an old age mellow and sweet as winter apples, and 
serene as a cloudless sky. There is an old age that 
surveys the past with satisfaction and the future with 
hope. There is an old age that surrenders the powers, 
joys, and ambitions of youth without reluctance, and 
that goes forward to the very verge of the grave with 
a sense of continued and increasing gain. 

The secret of such contentment and prosperity in 
declining years lies in the fact that the essential part 
of human nature is not body but soul, and that while 
the body is working out of adjustment with its physi- 
cal environment, the soul is coming into better adjust- 
ment with that unseen spiritual world which lies all 
around it. The function of old age seems to consist 
in weaning one away from earth and bringing him 
into perfect harmony with the spiritual order. He 
who, while drawing away from the realm of things 
visible, steadily adjusts himself to his unseen spiritual 
environment, fulfils the end and aim of his being, and 
experiences a sense of gain, of progress, of compen- 
sation at every stage of his journey. But he who, 
while time is forcing him back from the work and en- 
joyments of earth, refuses to come into affinity with 
any higher world, finds no gain to requite his loss, 



OLD AGE. 619 

no joy of acquisition to sweeten the pangs of abdica- 
tion. If this world were the only world, sad indeed 
would be the lot of man, with the consciousness that 
every moment is hurrying him away from the scenes 
he loves so well. But because this world is not the 
only world, there are powers, graces, pleasures, inter- 
ests, and hopes open to the aged, of which the super- 
ficial observer takes no account. You and I are not 
compelled to play a losing game. 

We note the working of this law of compensation 
as the strength and symmetry of the body disappear. 
To him who looks only upon the surface, there is 
something inexpressibly sad in the ravages that time 
makes upon the physical frame. There is no part of 
the natural man that does not suffer deterioration 
under its influence. Out of the uncouth weakness of 
babyhood, time develops us in grace and power ; but 
only for one proud short hour does it leave to us the 
glory of our prime. Time, that puts bloom upon the 
cheek and ripeness on the lips, plants the face at last 
with crow's-feet, seams, and wrinkles. Time turns the 
victor of the games into a hobbling cripple, and trans- 
forms the belle of the ball-room into a shrivelled old 
woman. 

Yet who can look into the saintly face of old age 
without feeling that the ravages of time are all upon 
the surface ? There is one kind of beauty for child- 
hood, another for youth, another for the prime of life, 
and still another for declining years. From childhood 
to youth, the development is predominantly physical ; 
but as youth opens into manhood and womanhood, 



2 O BE A TEN PA THS. 

spiritual qualities come more and more into play, and 
the lines of character deepen upon face and brow. In 
age this spiritual beauty is perfected, and may even 
become so great as to obliterate our consciousness of 
physical defects and infirmities. Old age, wrinkled 
and frail and trembling, may be beautiful ; but its 
beauty is of the spirit rather than of the flesh. As the 
wrinkles come, as the bloom fades from the cheek and 
the lustre dies out from the eyes, the countenance may 
become transfigured with that radiance which invests 
the angels of light, that spiritual beauty which, shining 
through the earthly robe of our Lord, put to shame 
the fuller's art with its pure and glistering splendor. 

The process of our development is from the natural 
toward the spiritual. As the strength of the body de- 
clines, we cease to lift heavy weights and run races 
and engage in the sports and pastimes of youth ; yet 
old age, with all its infirmities, may be strong — not in 
muscle and sinew, but in that subtle essence by which 
the physical frame is animated and sustained. Old 
age can do and bear things from which youth would 
shrink in helplessness and dismay. In the ability to 
resist temptation, to tolerate the faults and shortcom- 
ings of others, to meet calamity, and to endure with 
patience and good cheer the many limitations of life, 
old age is more than a match for youth with all its 
magnificent energies. 

In like manner, as the executive ability diminishes 
under the influence of time, there comes the possibility 
of replacing it with something better. We note the 
loss, but do not always perceive the opportunity for 



OLD AGE. 621 

gain. The child possesses greater ability along cer- 
tain lines than even the full grown man. His tireless 
activity and consuming thirst for knowledge are mar- 
vellous. His phase of development is admirably 
adapted for fitting him to the duties and labors that 
subsequently confront him. The youth has lost some- 
thing that he possessed as a child, but he has taken on 
new powers that more than compensate for the loss. 
He looks out upon life, feels its boundlessness, its 
immensity, its infinite opportunity for accomplishment ; 
takes hold of it in a real and earnest way, makes many 
blunders and retrieves himself, and with prodigious 
expenditure of effort carries his enterprises for- 
ward toward success. The man of middle age loses 
in energy, but gains in wisdom. He grows less ven- 
turesome and more contemplative, comes to a better 
understanding of the world, economizes his strength, 
makes fewer experiments and failures, expects less 
and realizes more. 

In old age wisdom is perfected. He who has been 
passed through sixty or seventy years of struggle and 
discipline, understands what the limitations of life 
really are and also what its opportunities amount to. 
He has lost in executive ability but has gained in 
strength of counsel. His words carry weight with 
them. In all who are not flippant and indifferent to 
the real interests of life, gray hairs provoke respect. 
The reverence which the youth instinctively feels for 
the aged, has its foundation in the very nature of 
things. The old man may not be as strong to effect 
transformations in the realm of things visible, but he 



62 2 BE A TEN PA THS. 

has gained in the ability to effect transformations in 
the world that is unseen. The power of doing good 
is not taken away from him. The youth would make 
a name, win a crown, build a palace ; but he that 
stands on life's summit, looking over the jasper walls 
and gates of pearl into the heavenly city, has an am- 
bition of a nobler kind. Old age recalls the vanished 
dreams and desires of youth, and feels how poor they 
were, how vain, how useless and unprofitable after all, 
how infinitely lower than the new ambitions that make 
the spirit glow with chastened and unquenchable de- 
sire. 

This, surely, is the normal course of our develop- 
ment. We grow out of the natural into the spirit- 
ual. But where no such adjustment to the higher 
world is sought and perfected, age finds little to com- 
pensate it for the energies and ambitions that dis- 
appear. Melancholy beyond expression is the sight 
of him who, feeling the present slipping steadily away 
from him, clutches it convulsively as in the frenzy of 
despair. The aged are sometimes blamed for their 
avarice, but if age brings no vision of the true riches, 
no prospect of the boundless future, no holy ambition 
that shall take the place of the old fires of youth, what 
is more natural than that he who would preserve his 
adjustment with this lower world, should cling convul- 
sively to that silver and gold by which, in the day of 
his failing energies, that adjustment may be main- 
tained. 

As with the energies and ambitions of youth, so 
also with its pleasures ; they never withdraw them- 



OLD AGE. 623 

selves without affording an opportunity of filling the 
vacant place with something nobler and more endur- 
ing. To those who look upon life only from the out- 
side, childhood seems to be its happiest period. Then 
our adjustment with the physical world is at its best, 
and everything carries the charm of novelty. It is 
the easiest thing in the world to make a child happy. 
The commonest story inspires him with interest, the 
simplest game fills him with delight, and the tamest 
joke is greeted with uproarious mirth. Our first railway 
journey was like a trip to Paradise ; our first top-boots 
made us happier than a king. O this blessed world 
of childhood — world of miracle, world of discovery, 
world of light and song, world of interest inexhausti- 
ble ! Who would believe that it could become such a 
stale, old, uninviting world in the course of three-score 
years? Long before we have reached the limit of 
life, we find that the charm and novelty of earth have 
passed away, and we become surprised and saddened 
at the discovery that we have little left save the mem- 
ory of our vanished joys. The old experiences will 
not come back to us again. The sadness of many a 
heart finds expression in the stanzas of Thomas Hood: 

" I remember, I remember 
The house where I was born, 
The little window where the sun 
Came peeping in at morn ; 
He never came a wink too soon, 
Nor brought too long a day, 
But now I often wish the night 
Had borne my breath away ! 



624 BEA TEN PA THS - 

" I remember, I remember 
Where I was used to swing, 
And thought the air must rush as fresh 
To swallows on the wing ; 
My spirit flew in feathers then, 
That is so heavy now, 
And summer pools could hardly cool 
The fever on my brow ! 

" I remember, I remember 
The fir-trees dark and high, 
I used to think their slender tops 
Were close against the sky ; 
It was a childish ignorance, 
But now 'tis little joy 
To know I'm further off from heaven 
Than when I was a boy." 

The law of life is that we shall be weaned away 
from our interest in things terrestrial, and prepared 
for the enjoyment of a higher world than that which 
lies open to the senses. We are bound to lose our 
satisfaction in the seen world, no matter whether we 
gain an interest in the things unseen, or not. He who 
gives himself over to the delights of earth finds his 
appetite for these lower pleasures turning at length to 
loathing. Where, one by one, the pleasures of the 
senses are wrested from us, and no higher joys come 
to take their place, old age is sure to be filled with 
peevishness and complaining. What pleasure has the 
world to offer him who sits in life's evening shadows, 
patiently fanning the embers, and knowing that at 
midnight, or cock-crowing, or in the morning, the flick- 
ering flame of life is sure to be extinguished ! Old 



OLD AGE. 625 



age, stripped of the joys and consolations of religion, 
is the most dreary region through which we can be 
called to pass. 

But that religion more than compensates for the 
loss of the pleasures of the senses, the experience of 
mankind abundantly declares. For the old age that 
waits upon a life well spent, there is laid up a crown 
of rejoicing more priceless and beautiful than any 
garland that ever graced the brows of youth. As the 
spiritual world opens up to us, its revelations come 
with an interest and power such as attended none of 
the discoveries of childhood. We may lose our zeal 
for probing into the constituents and laws of the phy- 
sical universe, but we gain in the desire to know more 
of that region of mystery and silence to which we are 
so rapidly approaching. If the young have no retro- 
spect to make them sad, neither have they any exper- 
ience of that sweet content which fills the heart in the 
contemplation of work well and nobly done. To them 
there comes the prospect of fifty years of toil and tri- 
umph ; but to him who has passed through this first 
stage of his pilgrimage, and waits in patience for the 
second, there opens up the prospect of a boundless 
eternity of work and reward — work without weariness, 
joy without satiety, love without dissimulation, and 
an increasing knowledge that shall bring no increase of 
sadness to the heart. 

When the sight grows dim and the green fields and 
sunny uplands begin to fade away, there comes the 
vision of that celestial city whose splendor no tongue 
has been able to set forth ; and when the hearing fails 



626 BE A TEN PA THS. 

and the voices of earth are hushed, from afar to the 
spirit's ear there comes the music of the anthem sung 
by that "great multitude which no man could number, 
out of every nation, and of all tribes and peoples and 
tongues, standing before the throne and before the 
Lamb, arrayed in white robes, and palms in their 
hands." 

As we think of old age, therefore, let us keep in 
mind the picture of those who are drifting down the 
stream of time, not with a sense of constant and irre- 
parable loss, but with a consciousness of increasing 
gain at every stage of the journey. Let us think of 
those who, as the bodily senses begin to perish, get 
glimpses of the spirit world, and hear words and music 
that can be repeated by no mortal tongue. Let us 
think of those who look not backward with regret to 
the vanishing things of earth, but forward with infinite 
yearning and with full assurance of faith to "that city 
which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is 
God." God bless the fathers and mothers who are 
teaching us how to go down to old age with the con- 
viction that "to die is gain." God bless the memory 
of those who have passed on before us into the realm 
of eternal day, giving a message of comfort and hope 
to the dear ones left behind. Life is precious because 
of them. 

I think of Luther, after his life of stress and storm, 
going down into the dark valley as peacefully as a 
little child would lie down to rest in its father's arms, 
with this simple and sufficient prayer, " Into thy hands 
I commend my spirit." I think of Huss welcoming his 



OLD AGE. 627 

chains for Christ's sake, and of Watson whispering 
with his dying breath, " I shall see strange sights to- 
day." I think of the saintly Otterbein declaring in 
his last moments, "Jesus, Jesus, I die, but thou livest. ' 
I think of that innumerable multitude who stand re- 
joicing forever before the throne ; and I know that as 
this body wears itself away, as its fires burn out and 
its beauty fades, the soul that inhabits it may sing a 
song of compensation, of increasing and eternal gain. 
And as I think of this soul itself, with its intangible 
and imperishable essence, with its majestic yearnings, 
its dissatisfaction with the things of time, its strivings 
after the good that it does not comprehend, I know 
that not out of morbid and shallow sentiment, not out 
of blight and weakness and decay, but out of the in- 
effable experiences of the Christian life has come that 
song which we know so well : 

"I'm but a stranger here, 

Heaven is my home ; 

• Earth is a desert drear, 

Heaven is my home ; 

Danger and sorrow stand 

Round me on every hand, 

Heaven is my fatherland, 

Heaven is my Home. 



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